


The Sun in Splendour

by blurgh (ahhhh)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, King Robb, M/M, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 147,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahhhh/pseuds/blurgh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb Stark married princess Myrcella Baratheon a few months ago. Their marriage isn't a happy one, it isn't bad just they have no connection with each other. Something Myrcella doesn't notice but eats Robb up.</p><p>Margaery Tyrell is moving to the capitol to marry Renly Baratheon, her marriage is a farce, her husband is more interested in her brother Loras than even talking to her. </p><p>She and Robb, both outsiders in King's Landing, bond over their marital woes.</p><p>Meanwhile Jon Arryn, The Hand of the King, and Stannis Baratheon are skulking about in the background. </p><p>What they will discover will change everything. How will the Kingdom be reshaped?</p><p>How will their relationship affect each other? Will Robb's honor rub off on her. Or her ambition on him.</p><p>Pov of Robb (-R-) and Margaery (-M-) to begin with then will expand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. -1-

-R-

“Stop tugging at it and let me do it!” Myrcella chastised. The princess moved behind Robb and started carefully setting about adjusting his doublet, tenderly placing each part of it perfectly in position. She walked around him biting down on her lip, concentrating as she made sure he looked perfect. “There!” She beamed up at him, leaning up to kiss him very quickly on the lips before returning her attention to his garb. She linked her delicate arm through his and turned them together so they faced the mirror in their solar. They were a good looking couple. Robb had heard that a lot. A lot. A lot. A boring, pretty thing. 

Now they would be second, the old news, the new marriage today would alter their lives… Well not really, but people might not compliment Robb over and over about the quality of his bridal match. Renly Baratheon and this Margaery Tyrell. He heard she was the most beautiful woman in the Kingdoms. Poor girl would probably remain untouched by her husband knowing of his proviclocities. Though Renly might be able to take his wife to Storm’s End. Robb had no such luck, his good-mother, Cersei, Queen Cersei at that, hated him and didn’t want to see her daughter stray from her sight. If she had her way they wouldn’t even share a solar. 

“You look gorgeous my lady,” Robb said quickly, snapping out of his daydream. She smiled and curtseyed, thanking him. They still hadn’t progressed to using each other’s first names. A highborn match with highborn sensibilities. Though it wasn’t a formality to say she was gorgeous she truly was. Her blonde hair pinned in a complicated Southern style looked like woven golden silk and was cascading down her lightly tanned skin, dressed in a gown which was red and gold, Lannister colors, hugged her waist and highlighted the flare of her hips. It was cut low, with a plunging neckline showing just the top of the swell of her breasts. 

She was breathtaking. Humming to herself sweetly as she put on a necklace and bracelets; the finishing touches to her splendid appearance. She suited it so well. Whereas Robb felt like a savage dressed up like a Prince. He rubbed his chin, missing the rough feeling of his beard he was told to shave for the event. 

There was a rap at the door. Ser Arys Oakheart it must be. He was Myrcella’s protector up until she was handed over to Robb. 

“It’s time my Princess, my Lord.”

Robb strapped his sword belt on, it made him feel a little better. The one remaining vestige of his Northern roots, it was tough, worn leather with bronze buckles and teeth. He offered his arm to Myrcella and she looped her dainty arm through the crook of his elbow and led her from their solar. Two Lannister soldiers and two of the Northern soldiers who had been stationed with Robb in the capitol flanked them as they made their way to the Sept of Baelor.

Weddings were tedious. Especially in the capitol and with someone as extravagant as Renly Baratheon. The streets were paved with rose petals, what a ridiculous waste, Robb thought shaking his head, at least it was the Tyrell flower and not Stag heads or Antlers paving the streets, that would be a morbid for a wedding. 

The Sept was packed already, they made their way to the head of the crowd, taking a prime position. Technically Renly was his Uncle which was annoying, as he didn’t care for him that much. He was a pleasant enough man, just the polar opposite of Robb, in fact he was the definition of what Northerners thought of soft Southern Lords. 

The King was standing behind the High Septon holding a huge goblet. He was most likely drunk already. Cersei was next to him, looking angry. Not as angry as she had been at Robb’s ceremony. The daggers she was shooting him throughout the service were vicious. She smiled at Myrcella and completely ignored him, looking through him as though he wasn’t there. Mace Tyrell was dressed like… Like an idiot was the best way to think of him, even his mother, the so called Queen of Thorns looked embarrassed to be next to him. How the fuck had he ended up living in this absurd place? 

They took their place together on the edge of the royal line of attendees waiting for the wedding. Stannis was next to them. Robb liked the man. He was the only person in the capitol not full of bullshit. He wasn’t nice or friendly to Robb which he respected. Renly entered first dressed in the golden and black clothing of his house, with a cloak with the crowned stag on draped over his arm. He couldn’t have looked less masculine if he tried. Maybe if he skipped. He didn’t look too pleased and kept glancing over at the Tyrell contingent of the attendees as if exchanging a glance with someone. 

Soon after the music struck up with the newly composed ‘A Rose Of Gold,’ and… Robb was taken aback. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen walked into the Sept with her hand placed on top of the hand of an armored man who walked with a limp. He must be Willas Tyrell. Staring at her for a few moments Robb realized it wasn’t that she was more or less beautiful than his own bride but just there was something to those eyes. Some shrewdness and thought which his own wife lacked, which nearly any woman he had met lacked.

 

***

“To the new couple!” King Robert bellowed far too loud as the party had returned to the Red Keep’s gardens for the feast. Thirty courses were planned. More Southern waste. Everyone raised their cups to drink the health of Renly and Margaery. Not enjoying himself very much Robb had already decided to get drunk and drained his cup and topped it up. With all the food coming it was hardly like it would even be possible to get ruined. He drained another cup and had to hide his gag. Myrcella was drinking dainty sips.

Renly seemed to share Robb’s plan and was drinking heavily, similar to his brother. Stannis had already left after the toast his wine untouched. 

“Are you looking forward to the feast my lord?” 

“Yes my dear, it should be very enjoyable,” Robb replied. The stiffness of their conversation only reaffirmed his choice to drink. He racked his mind for something else to say with Myrcella but as he always had in the past came up with nothing. The first course came before he came close to formulating a topic.

There was a grand table at which Robb was seated, with the royal family and the newly weds that faced an area for performers and dancers and mummers and other such nonsense, the band was split either side of this clearing and then there were six benches side face to the grand table where lesser lords, knights and dignitaries found themselves. There was no entertainment currently, just light background music. As long as they didn’t play the ‘rains of castamere,’ Robb had no major complaints. The amount of times he heard that bloody song during his own wedding was infuriating. Though he couldn’t really complain about grandeur, his own ceremony was ludacris with the courses and music and dancing. It had been uncomfortable though at least his own family had been there before they left him in the capitol alone.

He couldn’t help but glance over at Margaery Tyrell. Well Baratheon now. She didn’t seem particularly in awe of the celebrations. She looked calculating taking in her surroundings, observing everything and everyone. When she caught Robb’s eye he almost panicked, as if he had been caught doing something wrong. She just smiled, a mischievous smile and inclined her head to him. Like a deer caught in the lights of carriage he froze for far too long, before reanimating finally and nodding his head back. Her smile changed into one of bemusement and her deep, chestnut eyes sparkled. 

“Are you coping alright son?” A voice from behind Robb knocked him out his captivated stare. To turn over his shoulder to see Jon Arryn; the Hand of the King, standing behind him.

“I’m sorry?” 

“Coping alright? I know you Northerners loathe such… Spectacle,” he waved around at all the expense. 

“Oh,” Robb laughed, “it’s fine, it’s nice not to be on the podium for once.”

“I suppose so, just think of how many more courses there are and tick them off as they come and it’ll be over in no time!”

“As long as there is boar I’ll be happy,” he replied neutrally. He had learnt soon after arriving to King’s Landing to be very guarded with his emotions. If this was Winterfell he would have told Lord Arryn how shit he thought all of this was. 

“Good for you son, you have greater patience than your father. How many courses were there at your own wedding?”

“Erm…”

“28!” Myrcella perked up happily. 

“Wow, so your Uncle has out done you Princess.”

“I don’t mind, I’m just happy for them,” she replied in the most boring manner possible. 

“A graceful attitude fitting for you my princess, now excuse me your other Uncle and I have business to discuss,” Lord Arryn told them patting Robb on the shoulder a couple of times.

“Today?” Myrcella asked him.

“Yes princess, unfortunately for days like today, as resplendent as they are, still require some of us to work. You enjoy yourself please,” the Hand said softly before patting Robb one last time and taking his leave. Having the comparison of eating here for hours before going to the Red Keep to dance and drink until after midnight to having to work with Stannis, Robb counted his blessings. 

“He’s a hard working man, we’re all lucky to have him,” Myrcella said sincerely.

“Indeed we are,” was all Robb could manage in response to that. It was hardly stimulating conversation and died as soon as it started. The servants took away the first course and Robb drained yet another cup full of wine. 

***

The entertainment was nowhere near as entertaining as drunk and belligerent King Robert. Shouting abuse at the dancers and fire breathers from Essos. It was hilarious. Especially as Robb himself was really, really drunk. The 28th course had come and gone untouched by him as had many of them. In his current state the lack of personality of his wife didn’t matter much, her looks were what mattered. Could he leer at his own wife? If so he was. She had barely drank anything, which was a shame because he would like to see her lose that royal sheen which controlled and dictated her every action and word. 

In the lower light of the setting dusk Myrcella’s golden curls shined and her small, delicate face looked perfect. 

“Yes my Lord?” She asked him.

“What?”

“You were looking at me.”

“I was just thinking how lovely you look.”

“Oh thank you my lord, you look very handsome too,” she said curtly before returning to eating minute bites of the fish that was placed before them.

Well that ruined his mood. He tried to recall if they had ever had any sort of deeper talk then exchanging pleasantries, but nothing came to mind and he had far too much wine to irritate himself.

“Bring the strong wine! THE STRONG WINE!” Robert shouted, his booming voice reverberating all around. The Queen Cersei got up and left at that, the moment she was gone and her brother followed her in his golden armor, barrels were brought before the King. He cheered and insisted all had to drink. 

***

Inside the Red Keep one of the many feasting halls had been cleared out with the tables round the edges covered in drinks and finger food and a band playing music as people danced and drank more and more. Myrcella was still just sipping at her wine, Robb doubted if she finished a single cup in the last six or so hours. 

Renly on the other hand had taken his brother’s lead and was barely able to stand on his feet. Robb doubted the man would be able to perform his marital duties. The thought of him and Margaery gave him a pang of jealously. That was strange. He decided to bury that with more strong wine. His own head was swimming.

“Dance?” He said to his wife offering out his hand she nodded and handed off her drink to a servant.

“Could you take off your sword?”

Robb laughed realizing as he took of his sword belt and handed it off to the same lingering servant. She had said in all seriousness rather a cheeky scolding. He led her onto the dance floor and placed his hand on his waist and gripped her through her dress and they began moving in time to the music. They might as well have been just a lord and lady going through the motions of politely dancing at a ball rather than a married couple. 

When the tempo of the music changed Myrcella excused herself and went to get some iced water leaving Robb to go find some more booze to dilute the grating mundanity of this wedding. He got his weapon back and went to lean against a wall while his wife spoke to her handmaidens. He sipped away at his strong wine. 

“I’ve never seen a wolf.”

He jumped at the surprise voice coming up to him. It was Margaery Tyrell. Baratheon. Margaery Baratheon.

“No?” He asked turning to her before quickly scanning the room to check where Renly was. He was talking to Loras Tyrell as he always was. He almost lost his voice again looking at her. She had chestnut hair and eyes to match, her face was heart shaped and her skin was tanned and unblemished. Pretty as she was, there was just something more there which he couldn’t put his finger on. 

“We don’t tend to get wolves this far South.”

“We have roses in Winterfell, they just tend not to be so…” He stopped himself before he said something inappropriate. 

“Tend to be?” She asked with a smirk, her chestnut eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Nevermind,” Robb said taking another sip of wine. He was nervous talking to her. “Congratulations by the way.”

“Oh yes I’m so thrilled, marrying into the Royal family, I’m sure you know the feeling?”

“Oh of course, I know just how thrilling it can be,” he said sarcastically. 

“Thrilling is the word,” she said. She was speaking in all seriousness but there was a twinkle in eyes which suggested more than was being said. 

“I don’t think I drank this much my own wedding night, especially not as much as your husband.”

“Perhaps he needs to make me more attractive and pleasing before we retire to our chamber.”

“I doubt it,” Robb snorted before recomposing himself realizing that was inappropriate. 

“Oh?” She smiled, her eyes becoming even more alive. “Well considering who your wife is I know you’re a expert in such matters.”

“Your cup is empty my lady, want a refill?” He asked changing the topic very quickly. 

“I think I would. I might need a few more cups myself like my husband to prepare for the bedding and what comes after,” she told him as Robb signalled for a servant to bring libation. “Thank you.”

“Of course my lady.”

“Margaery is fine my lord.”

“Robb, with two bs,” he added out of nerves. 

“Well thank you Rob...B,” she smiled over the lip of her cup at him not breaking eye contact. 

“My lord,” Myrcella came over, “my lady,” she greeted Margaery who curtseyed for the princess, “congratulations. My lord I think I would like to retire.”

“Of course princess,” Robb nodded to his wife and smiled pleasantly despite being angered by this interruption under the surface. “Good night my lady congratulations again.”

Myrcella moved off to kiss her father goodnight. 

“I thought I said Margaery?” She teased as he blushed a little. “Goodnight to you too Robb, I think I need a few more cupfuls, I doubt you would understand such a thing from women. I can’t imagine any would need to drink a thing to go to bed with you.”

Robb coughed and spluttered at that trying not to spit his wine out in shock. She just smirked as if she said nothing. 

“Goodnight Margaery,” Robb corrected after recovering and bowed to go find his wife. 

***

“That was an enjoyable evening,” Myrcella said as she sat in front of her mirror unpicking her hair from its complex braiding. “I think they’ll make a good match.”

“Yes. It was very… enjoyable,” Robb agreed. He was distracted thinking of someone else. He had pulled off his doublet and was washing his chest over a basin. He wished his wife would take the lead and come over and run her hands over his back and chest but he knew that was wishful thinking.

When he had finished washing himself Myrcella was standing in her night attire on their balcony looking over the city. It was a nice sight in the dark; the sprawling and spread out fires glittering against the moonlit Blackwater Bay. Robb walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She relaxed into his body resting the back of her head on his shoulder. He let himself be taken over by the sheer amount of alcohol he had consumed and his hand wandered. He pulled up her shift and felt her small frame shiver against him as he cupped her breasts and massaged them. A small gasp escaped her mouth.

“No my lord, in bed not out here,” she told him. Robb held in his sigh of frustration and let go of her breasts to take her hand and lead her to the bed in their grand solar. He turned her around and pushed her backwards onto the mattress. She scamped back to quickly put out the candles so they were in the dark. Another annoyance he didn’t address. He pulled off her shift and kicked off his trousers, she would never and had never done that for him. He kissed her and she kissed him back but it lacked passion. 

Letting the grievances build up he skipped any build up and just took himself himself in hand and positioned himself the best he could in the blackness against her slit pushing into her slowly until he could pull back and start to build up a rhythm. She dug her nails into his back but that was due to the pain, otherwise she just lay under him, making occasional noises. Even when her body responded and had become slick around him she was still pretty unresponsive. It was nothing more than duty to her. Margaery Tyrell’s face came up in his mind’s eye and spurred him, picturing her underneath him he soon finished inside his wife and rolled off.

“Are we done my lord?”

“Yes,” he replied sleepily. 

“Goodnight darling,” she kissed him softly on the cheek and pulled the sheets over them both. 

 

-M-

“Should I undress in front of you or behind the screen?” Margaery offered to Renly undoing the ties of her wedding dress letting it pool at her feet and playing with the hem of her shift.

“I fear…” Renly started before stopping to stare a million miles away, he was so drunk. “I f. I fear, I fear I may have…” he stopped again to belch. How charming. “I may have had a little too much wine right now. Perhaps we can wait a shor…” Another belch. “Wait a bit.” He walked to the giant bed they had been gifted for this evening. It was used for weddings. So Robert bedded Cersei here and previously Myrcella and Robb Stark.

“Ok,” Margaery said slowly. She was somewhat glad about that. She didn’t want to fuck a man who fucked her brother. That in itself was a problem. She was now in this new city and her best friend; Loras, had a vested interest in the man she had married and was distant and cold with her. Was her first time really going to be shared with her brother? It was revolting to consider. 

In the time it took for her to undo her hair and have some water her new husband was face down on the bed, still dressed, snoring away. Maybe he was like his brother; the King afterall. Or maybe he had purposefully just drank himself stupid so he didn’t have to perform his duties. 

She got into the bed next to him and pulled some of the rows of pillows from the top of the bed and put them as a barrier in between them. He was a handsome man she reflected looking down at his snoring face, just… There was something missing there, no spark, no attraction. When he spoke to her it was all proper and courtly. Reserved and inaccessible. He had treated Margaery as if she were a foreign dignitary he had to treat with, rather than a life partner. She rolled onto her side, turning her back to Renly. It would be a long time until sleep came but at least she hadn’t had to suffer him unenthusiastically trying to mount her and pretend she was her brother. She shuddered at the thought. 

Though if anyone asked she would claim he had been a stallion and the night was all she dreamed of and just have to hope the night never came when he tried to fulfil his ‘duty.’


	2. -2-

-M-

It was lucky that her grandmother had insisted both the bedding and undressing of her and Renly in front of the wedding was to be nixed. The display of their sheets however was going ahead. Unless people were happy with the drool and alcohol infused sweat of the King’s brother that would be a problem. He was still passed out asleep, the snores were deep and disgusting, as Margaery rolled out of the bed to get dressed. Finding a small knife used for cutting fruit she wandered back to the bed and cut a deep slice down the flesh of her thumb and squeezed out some red onto the white sheets near the middle where she reckoned she would be positioned if they had had sex. She stained the sheets and went to get changed.

“Renly,” she tried prodding him in the back. Nothing. 

He wouldn’t be in the land of the living for a while longer. She pulled open the chamber door, two men in Baratheon colors stood there on guard. 

“My lady,” they greeted her. She just bowed her head and walked off as they closed the door behind her. She hoped they hadn’t been there last night and able to listen in. That was how rumors started. Though the fact she most likely wouldn’t be getting pregnant anytime soon might help spread those rumors. Margaery made her way up to the gardens of the Red Keep where the Tyrells had been placed. It made sense, gardens had roses… If there was any thought put into it at all. Her grandmother was who she was looking for, not her father nor mother and especially not her brother. 

The recognizable figure of the Queen of Thorns was in a stone gazebo surrounded by handmaidens and lesser ladies of the Reach sewing. She looked bored and annoyed right until she saw her granddaughter and she cracked a smile and started ordering her ‘little hens,’ to move aside. 

“Good morning young lady,” she greeted Margaery patting the seat next to her. 

“Good morning grandmother,” she replied kissing her on each cheek.

“Leave.”

There was a short pause as everyone who wasn’t a Tyrell looked at Olenna confused for a moment.

“I said leave,” she snapped and they moved into action, scurrying away like… Well like hens. “So my dear, how are you this morning.”

“I didn’t sleep much,” Margaery said bitterly taking a glass of iced milk. 

“Really? I didn’t expect that out of that ponce Renly… If Loras was seated here I could understand but… Really?”

“Oh nothing like that, he drank himself stupid and fell asleep. Nothing happened.”

“Your sheets?!”

Margaery simply held up her hand and showed off the cut in her thumb and her grandmother the wound and she grinned that toothless smile of hers which seemed to be reserved for just Margaery.

“Smart girl. Smart girl. It isn’t too bad you know, having a husband who refuses to lie with you. Better than a randy man who sweats and lies on you at every moment doing his best which is laughable.”

“I suppose so. I think he feared the bed with me more than I ever could.”

“Ask Loras if he is always so reluctant… Sorry, too soon to jape?”

“No. It’s fine, at least it’s over.”

“Over! Ha! My dear girl have you never met a Baratheon there will be this preposterous joust and archery and other such nonsense of silly boys hitting each other with sticks and what have you. Then any other drunkenness this so called King could squeeze out of this event.”

“Oh no, I forgot about that,” Margaery rubbed her face with her hands. “This place is so tiring.”

“Well prepare yourself to be tired for a long time.”

 

-R- 

“My lord,” a disconnected voice came through the smog and haze. His body rocked and was moved. “My lord,” the voice came through stronger. Robb opened his eyes and it felt like there was dried honey in his eyelids. Ouch. Ouch his fucking head. Myrcella was sitting on the edge of his side of the bed holding a goblet. “Water?”

“Thanks,” he rasped, his mouth was equally dry and awful. He drained the cup and Myrcella took it and walked off to refill it and come back and he drained it again and rolled onto his back and closed his eyes again. 

“You need to wake my lord, the council is meeting.”

“What? Oh shit,” he sat up too fast and had to hold his head as it crashed and throbbed. “Today?” he rasped.

“Arranging the joust my lord.”

“Oh… Not.. Fuck!” he cursed and noticed his wife shrink away and flinch from his use of bad language. He got out of bed and let the world come back to him after his deep, strong wine induced sleep. Myrcella had already dressed and done her hair and looked perfect as always. He threw on a tunic and trousers stamping his feet into his boots breaking the back of the leather as he rushed. Tying his sword around his waist he turned to kiss his wife goodbye.

Rushing out he ran to the small council chambers almost knocking over a servant on the way he shouted sorry over his shoulder as he pelted onwards.

“Sorry I’m late,” he exploded as he almost tripped into the council chambers.

“Quite improper,” Pycelle huffed. He had never liked Robb, who suspected it was the fact he worshipped different gods. “As a junior advisor you should be here first! This is a great honor!”

“Oh let him off Grand Maester,” Jon Arryn dismissed the old man, “there was a feast yesterday.”

“A feast is no excuse,” Stannis said. “Though at least Stark is here, I doubt either of my brothers will wake before midday. Our master of laws will likely no show us.”

“So no harm, no foul,” Jon smiled at Robb and gestured for him to take his seat. Robb loathed these meetings, he was only placed on the council for dubious reasons. It was to have a Northern ‘presence,’ on the small council. Apparently. Though as Varys had told him softly and Littlefinger had told him more cuttingly that it was so he had to stay here and Cersei didn’t lose her daughter. Not that she paid much mind to her daughter or her other son, all of it went to Joffrey who had been sent to Casterly Rock with Tywin Lannister for a trip to meet his future wardens. It was a suspicious tour of the wardens as it included one and one only; the Queen’s father. 

The meeting dragged on and on as the amounts for the prize purse for each of the events was discussed at length. Real length. If anything it made Robb’s hangover deepen. He just remained as silent as possible and just agreed with the Hand of the King if ever prompted into making any input.

***

“No longer the golden couple of the capital eh Stark?” Littlefinger sidled up to him as he walked slowly out of the small council chamber looking for some food and a lot more water. He didn’t like the man, he was always polite but there was something nasty underneath his tone. 

“No I suppose not,” Robb said dryly not slowing down for the shorter man.

“You just need to have a child and you’ll reclaim that pedestal rather quickly every fawning over him or her.”

“I guess they would.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten her pregnant yet, she is a beautiful girl.”

“That she is,” Robb replied repressing the urge to punch the upjumped brothel keeper in the mouth.

“I would be richer than Tywin Lannister if she work…”

“Careful Baelish!” Robb stopped dead in his tracks.

“Sorry no offence my lord,” he said smiling that infuriating grin of his. “I sometimes forget how to talk to you noble lords.”

Robb just ignored him and walked off. Awful man. A true snake. 

***

“How was the small council my lord?” Myrcella asked him as he collapsed into their bed. He had eaten and drunk as much water as was possible and wanted to rest. He did feel a lot better but still slow.

“We were discussing this tournament for Renly and Margaery.”

“Will you compete?”

“I will. In the melee.”

“I will sew and stitch you something to wear as my favor,” she offered.

“Thank you my lady.”

She bowed her head and took to her writing desk overlooking the balcony and city to pen her bland poetry. Perhaps that was unfair, he just wasn’t a fan of poetry it just seemed to Robb that one had to have experienced something more than just the life of a princess in a castle to write interestingly. 

They essentially lived together but separately. He wondered if she judged him for lying around in bed holding his head and suppressing moaning in frustration. Robb suspected not. He suspected that she had no real opinion of him other than; ‘that’s my husband.’ Nothing more. He fell in a peculiar hungover sleep where he was dreaming lucidly. He dreamt of fighting on horseback which was unusual. Before waking to see Myrcella walking around their solar doing something. Soon enough he was dreaming of a woman, who wasn’t his wife, a brunette, lying on top of his and grinding down on him. He woke again aroused and not quite in reality. 

“Myrcella,” he called out, it was one of the few times ever he had used her name, he just wasn’t grounded enough to remember proper titles.

“My lord?” She asked coming to the bed and standing over him looking a little confused. She squeaked out in shock when he took her wrist and pulled her onto the the bed on top of him. He began kissing her, trying to get her to respond past just marital duty. Wanting her to be on top for once, or anything than just lying underneath him waiting for it to be over. She kissed him back as she always did, lightly placing a hand on his side through the sheets, holding him as if he were made of glass which could shatter in a moment. 

As Robb started to undo the laces on the bodice of her dress she grabbed his wrist.

“Let me close the curtains and windows my lord.”

“Why? No can see in?”

“Still,” she shrugged getting up and walking from the bed to close everything that linked to the world outside of their solar. Trying his luck, trying to get more from his wife he stood up and followed her to the windows and the moment she had them closed turned her around. He was in just his trousers as he pawed at her dress getting her laces undone and pulling off the outer bodice. He led her to the chair by the desk in their room and sat down pulling her onto his lap and kissing her again.

“What are we doing?” she asked in between kisses. Robb didn’t reply just kissed her again and moved his hand down her shift to raise it up over her thighs, gripping her upper leg and pulling them either side of his. Undoing his own laces on his trousers he lifted her up under her arse and lowered her down onto him. She bit down on his lip as he entered her. That was the sort of thing he was looking for. He grasped her arse cheeks and spread them so he could slid himself inside her and then slowly up and down. She actually moaned into his mouth which he captured and kept kissing her. Trying to encourage her to move up and down on him herself but she didn’t he had to moved her himself.

Her arms were lightly wrapped around his shoulders, just for balance not participating. Robb was desperate to coax something more out of her. He pulled her shift off over head, having to move her arms with one arm as his other had to keep her bouncing up and down. He shifted back in the chair sliding down in it and lifting her higher so he could keep both his hands spreading her arse cheeks as wide as possible and press his face into her breasts taking one of her nipples in his mouth and softly bite at it and suck it. He alternated between her breasts and she actually started panting and gasped into his ear. Near his finish he let go of her arse and held onto her shoulders and pushed her down so he was as deep in her as he could manage finishing inside her. 

His hangover forgotten he let his head loll back in the chair. Myrcella climbed off him and kissed him on the cheek chastely. He felt amazing, that was the most adventurous they been sexually. Robb just had to hope she had enjoyed it too. 

“I wonder if I’ll be with child soon,” Myrcella said wistfully, “I hope so.” Well that ruined the post-coital mood. 

“We can only hope,” Robb said diplomatically abandoning the thought of asking her whether she enjoyed that or wanted to try anything. She was already dressed before he stood up. How she managed to dress so quickly was beyond him. Oh terrific, his hangover was returning. 

 

-M-

“You know Loras, I really don’t mind you and my husband spending so much time together but people will talk if he never comes to our chambers,” Margaery told her brother.

“So what are you asking?”

“If you’re going to fuck my husband don’t let people know,” she said bluntly.

“Well if you’re not someone has to,” he grinned at her. She had to return the smile. She was happy for her brother that he had found someone he loved, maybe it was a bit complicated but it also meant she dodged an arrow not having to relieve a reluctant Renly Baratheon’s sexual frustrations. “You just need to have a child and it’ll be fine. One son and you’ll never need to be with him.”

“Oh great. Should you really be spending so much time with him if you’re planning on actually winning this joust?” She turned the topic of conversation away from the affair. 

“I’ll win if I come straight from my room and haven’t slept a wink,” he smirked. His cockiness was infectious. “I’ll be glad to meet some of the new blood. Like the young wolf.”

The mention of Robb Stark gave her a twinge in her stomach. She had enjoyed speaking to him, he was probably the one person she had enjoyed talking to who wasn’t a family member since arriving at the capitol. He was pretty handsome on top of that. 

“I doubt he’ll joust will he? I didn’t think Northerners often fought on horseback?”

“Maybe, maybe, either way I’ll enjoy knocking Jaime Lannister down a peg or two and cracking his golden armor when he falls on his arse.”

“He needs taking down a peg or two?” She laughed. “That’s bloody rich dear brother.”

“If only I was a better archer I would win the joust and enter and win the melee and the shooting.”

“Of course you will,” Margaery patted him on the shoulder. 

***

The castle was bustling getting the lists ready, it was as if everyone had to rush everywhere. She was being completely ignored. Her husband for… Well for obvious reasons. Her mother and father were more interested in Loras and his tournament chances. Willas was depressed by such events after what had happened to him. He locked himself up in his room and did whatever he did.

She had a guard but they never spoke unless spoken to. They just trailed her silently wherever she went outside of the gardens and Red Keep. Even in the courtyard.

The clang of swords rung out from every separate direction. Every Lord and Knight was practicing. Picking a direction at random Margaery wandered through the dusty paths and courtyard’s just eating up some time. She walked past some Lannisters training at archery, some Baratheon and Tyrell men training swords and maces. She stopped when she came upon the Northern men. Their armor and arms were a lot less fancy than their counterparts.

She stopped in the alley of that particular courtyard and placed a resting hand on one of the pillars in the arches looking out. Robb Stark was training, he was shirtless, sweating and fighting an older, grizzled looking man-at-arms. He was parrying incoming strikes before having his partner parry his strikes. He moved fast and she could see the sinew of his muscled torso and arms stretching and contorting as he darted forward and backward. His body was pale, she had never really seen people who didn’t have some sort of tan, the Reach was even hotter than the Crownlands.

Margaery wasn’t sure why lingered for so long in the shadow of the courtyard’s alley, but she did, not wanting to look away for young wolf. She jumped and got a little nervous when they stopped for a respite and Robb looked over at her. They both froze. He moved then stopped as if unsure whether to come over and speak to her or not. Her heart started to beat a little faster as he did decide to come over. She tried to maintain eye contact and not look at his chest or stomach but failed miserably. 

“My lady?” He greeted her but made the greeting sound like a question. She recomposed herself immediately.

“I thought I told you it is Margaery,” she said with a smirk as if reprimanding him. She couldn’t truly tell due to his sweating but it looked like he blushed. “Rob… B” She added emphasizing the second b. He definitely blushed that time. 

“Sorry my… Margaery.”

“I’m not your Margaery, but apology accepted,” she teased as he got redder and went to wipe his face clear of sweat and she used that chance to look at chiselled muscle of his abdomen. “Are you entering the melee then?”

“Yes I am,” he perked up, “I wasn’t able to compete at the tournament for own wedding, apparently its gauche and one doesn’t want to get injured on what’s meant to the be the happiest time of your life.”

Meant to be? She picked up on that. 

“Oh so that’s why my husband isn’t competing is it?”

“Oh yes, that’s why I’m sure,” Robb laughed. He had a nice laugh Margaery decided. “I must get back to practice m… Margaery.”

“Ok then Rob...B, best of luck, as my own husband won’t be competing due to… the rules,” she said mischievously. “I shall root for you,” she told him with a smirk and wanting to see him blush once more winked almost imperceptibly but got the reaction she wanted. “Farewell.” She took her leave. 

Why had she done that she wondered. It wasn’t sensible behavior to flirt with a married man. It was all just good fun though of course.

 

-R-

Robb had to admit he jumped at the opportunity to enter the melee, it was a chance to train hard everyday with a small contingent of his men. Alyn and Hallis Morden were good swordsmen to hone his skills against. It also meant that he had something to do with his days other than not contributing to Small Council meetings and failing to make conversation with his wife. He was exhausted and sore every night for the week leading up to the tournament. Only taking a break the day before the event to rest. He had taken a few knocks and developed a couple of bruises training as he let his mind slip to Margaery Tyrell and her words of encouragement. 

Stupid of him.

The morning of the tournament’s first day he washed and dressed in boiled leather clothes to wear as a last line of defence under his armor. Myrcella left to prepare in peace, she would be leaving before him to join the royal family and highest born of the lords in their special box. 

“Here my lord,” she approached him and handed him a intricate band of cloth. It was gold, black, red and grey, with the colors of each their houses. It was odd she added the Lannister colors. He would never think to wear Tully colors.

“Thank you princess,” he smiled at her and took it from her hand and kissed the back of it formally. She bowed her head and wished him luck before leaving with two red cloaks. 

***

Shouldn’t he have a squire? Everyone else had one, Robb thought as he pulled his own silver colored mail on over his leather and tightened the strap of his sword belt. He strapped a metal guard over his wrist the way his father had taught him, so it could be used to deflect incoming blows if his shield was lost.He picked up his own round, dark shield which was emblazoned with a growling Direwolf and went from his tent to join his fellow Northmen who were competing. The five of them, well six with Robb marched from their two tents towards the field of the melee.

The opening bouts of the jousting had been completed and everyone who had been expected to win their tilt had won. The final 16 competed the following day. He would compete today in one of two melees and then presuming he advanced he would advance to the second tomorrow. 

It was an impressive sight seeing the decorations. Tents stretched far back with giant stags carved out of wood, 20 feet tall, either side of the jousting lists. It almost felt like they were walking to battle as they moved towards the melee. There were easily forty men in the melee. Robb took the favor his wife had sewed for him out of his sword belt and tied it around his wrist as he searched in the royal stand, which had two more giant stags bookending it, for his wife. He caught her eye and raised his arm to show the favor and she bowed her head. He scanned the rest of the box to find Margaery Tyrell sitting next to her husband who was ignoring her to speak to a dirtied Loras Tyrell, clearing still showing the effects of the jousting. 

She was looking directly at him, smiling softly. He glanced back at his wife but she was talking to her brother Tommen, realizing she wasn’t looking he went back to Margaery who was still staring at him. He jumped a little as horn blew to signal the start of the melee. He hadn’t even strapped his shield on! Idiot.

-M-

Renly hadn’t acknowledged her he was talking to her brother, returning from his victories in the early stages of the listings. The second melee of the day was starting and Robb Stark very clearly looked for her in the spectator’s box. Once the trumpeter blasted for the commencement of the melee Margaery used that chance to look over at Myrcella Baratheon. She hadn’t taken much notice of her. She was a pretty girl, very. Gorgeous infact, maybe even the most gorgeous woman she had ever seen. She was smiling politely watching the beginning of the combat below. It was probably right for her to introduce herself to the princess.

It was interesting to watch the melee to begin with. The men fighting and getting together in allegiances. She had been watching the Stark men in particular. They had banded together with those from the Vale to fight the hedge knights and men from the Crownlands. The Tyrell, Baratheon and Lannister men had already competed, no one had died which was good, though there were several terrible injuries. 

In the bright sunlight it was hard to focus on any details as the flash of metal and glint of armor, on top of the general carnage. 

Finally the Stark and Arryn men were left together and split once more. A few stray hedge knights survived when the trumpet sounded again. Those left who hadn’t been debilitated or disarmed, less than fifteen, would advance tomorrow.

“Robb!” King Robert boomed, “Robb!” 

Margaery turned to look at King and as he was shouting Cersei Lannister stood and left, looking irked.

“Stark!” Robert kept shouting until finally Robb heard him. The King waved him over. She hadn’t really thought about the relationships of the capitol but Robb was the King’s good-son. He was in line for throne if a lot of people died but still. Also Eddard Stark, the famous warden of the North, was his best friend, she needed to be more aware of the politicking. Robb waved to his men and made his way over to the stand and climbed up the stairs. Closer up she could see the blood splattering his silver mail and the knuckles of his gauntlet.The King grabbed him around the neck and hugged him tight. “Good boy! Good lad! Your father would be proud.”

After more drunken, loud praise Robert let him go and Robb was able to shuffle his way down the line to his wife. When he got nearer to her Margaery could see the grime and sweat in his hand and scrapes and markings on his armor. To look at Robb talking to his wife; coated in the filth of the melee she had to look past Renly who was worrying with the dirt behind his nails. 

***

The first feast of the tournament was a subdued affair, a lot of would be attendees were either preparing for the following day or too injured to attend, they were too busy being attended to by physicians. 

Renly just hadn’t turned up. She choose this time to speak to Myrcella Baratheon. Who was her good-niece?! She was barely younger than her. Though that made Robb Stark her go… She immediately pushed that thought out of her head. 

“Good evening princess,” she curtseyed in front of her.

“Good evening my lady,” she smiled back inclining her head. 

“I thought I would introduce myself.”

Myrcella dismissed the person sitting next to her and invited Margaery to take the vacated seat. 

“Your husband fought very well today.”

“He is very gallant,” she agreed. Right well that went nowhere. Margaery paused waiting to see if the princess would offer up anymore conversation but she didn’t. Instead she just smiled politely and looked expectantly. 

“Yes, he is,” Margaery replied as she racked her mind for something to say.

“Congratulations on your wedding.”

“Oh thank you princess.”

Margaery left the feast to her empty chambers. Renly would be with Loras. She left thinking that the princess was either a master of hiding her thoughts and feelings or was the most boring person she had ever met. There were no complaints, she was lovely and.. Well royal. Just she didn’t seem to have an opinion to offer. 

-R- 

His armor wasn’t in great condition for the second melee. If only he had a squire. There were three more jousts to finish after the melee. The semi-finals and then finals. The archery had been won in the morning by a Dornishman called Anguy. Robb thought he ought to offer the man a place in his guard. The lists had come down to Ser Loras Tyrell pitted against the Kingslayer; Jaime Lannister and the Mountain Ser Gregor was pitted against a lesser known knight Ser Beric Dondarrion. 

Robb marched from his tent strapping on his wife’s favor and made his way with the three men he had left who hadn’t been eliminated. The sand of the arena had been raked and the spectators had moved stands from the lists to melee. They weren’t far from the people and once again Robb held up his arm with the favor tied around to his wife. For the second day in a row he looked for Margaery Tyrell and saw she for the second day in a row was looking directly at him. 

He needed to focus. 

This time everyone had to fall, it wasn’t just waiting for some time limit to expire. He raised his shield and moved forward. He and his men joined up with Ser Hugh of the Vale’s remaining men-at-arms and began to fight.

His head was ringing from the clash of the skirmish his arm was going dead from the repeated strikes he’d parried with his shield. Alyn, his last man, had been disarmed and left him alone in the arena. It was him, three Lannisters and two knights from the Reach and a hedge knight. The green and red turned on each as he faced down the hedge knight. The man had no shield instead favoring a two handed axe. He lunged at Robb who took the strike on his shield, rattling his whole body but made the hedge knight open for him to punch him in the face with his heavily mailed glove. He went down hard and was soon dragged off, unconscious, by a couple of squires.

Pivoting towards the others it was just one Lannister man now. Him and Robb. He had a brown shield with a boar on it; House Crakehall. He was a huge man, holding a mace which Robb doubted he could lift. They circled each other once then twice before his adversary lunged forward with a ferocious assault. Robb took it all on his shield his arm was on fire with pain as he tried a counter attack striking at the inside of his foe’s shield arm which was exposed by his aggressive attacks. 

“Fucking prick,” he cried lashing out again and again. Robb was much faster than him and was able to dodge back with ease, increasing ease as he tired visibly. “Come here, fucking fuck,” he cursed as he missed swing after swing. 

Finally Robb saw his chance and darted forward with his sword and caught the man in the face as he was too drained to properly parry him. His shield caught the thrust and knocked it higher than Robb intended and his opponent screamed out and recoiled. Pausing he let him reel back and hold his face. There was a hush Robb suddenly noticed and quickly looked around him. There were spectators everywhere, fallen combatants had lined the arena. 

“Stop! Cease!” A man yelled from the sidelines. Why? Robb looked around confused why should it be stopped. It was apparent when Lord Crakehall looked up at him, his face coated in blood where his left eye once had been. “Stop!”

“Never!” Robb’s foe cried and came forward once more. He was a mess now, tired and missing his swings by a good few yards. It felt dishonorable to attack the man further so he just bashed him in the side with his shield knocking him over. Despite this he tried to rise once more. The trumpet sounded again and a handful of men rushed out to pull Lord Crakehall away. 

“Do you need medicine my Lord?” 

“No.”

“Your chest though my lord!”

Robb looked down at his mailed chest and saw some blood seeping through the links in the steel. He touched it and yanked down the mail to see a cut on his upper torso. It wasn’t too bad, simply a flesh wound.

“Not yet, it’s fine.”

“Then come my lord.”

Robb walked his way to the front of the royal stand where Robert had plodded down from his throne with Myrcella next to him. He bowed before the King quickly and rushed to his wife to kiss her. The people in the stands cheered. 

“Well done lad knew you had it in you,” Robert patted him hard on the shoulder. “10,000 dragons son. For you and my daughter!” Myrcella clapped politely. Robert turned Robb to the crowd and held up his arm. 

-M-

Loras had come second in the tilts, winning 10,000 dragons to the winner; Ser Beric Dondarrion who Margaery had never heard of, who won 20,000. Robb Stark had won the melee. She didn’t see him awarded or paraded around as the winner as when he cut out the eye of Ser Crakehall her brave husband had vomited at the sight and she felt obliged to leave with him. He brushed her off and said it was too much wine and that he had to prepare for the feast anyway and rushed off to the Red Keep. 

Not sure what to do with herself she made her way down to the tents of the competitors in the joust and the melee. Margaery sought out Loras’ pavilion and opened the flaps and entered without invitation. He was kicking a chest of draws over and over.

“Loras?” She called out. 

“What?! Oh, sister, I was just… Fucking furious,” he exploded and threw something against the canvas of the wall. “Who was that man?”

“Ser Beri…”

“I know his bloody name! After unseating the bloody Kingslayer!”

“I think I should probably give you space,” Margaery said as he turned his back on her and went back to brooding. She left him. The Stark tent was near the exit of the camp. She bit down on her lip and thought about it for a moment, though from the fact she was already moving towards the grey and black direwolf colored door. She looked around but no one was paying attention to her. She opened the flaps of the tent. 

“My lady!” Robb Stark exclaimed as he stood shirtless in front of her holding a bloodied rag in one hand. His chest had a scar developing from his clavicle coming down from the top right to his sternum. 

“Margaery,” she corrected walking towards him. 

“Right, I didn’t see you in audience when I won the melee.”

He looked for me? “My husband threw up after seeing an eyeball out of the skull.”

“It wasn’t pleasant,” Robb shrugged. “These things happen.”

“I know. Are you hurt Robb?” Margaery asked inspecting his cut. She approached and put a finger an inch from the wound.

“A scratch.”

She frowned at her own finger thinking whether or not to feel what severed flesh felt like. After a few heartbeats she withdrew her hand. 

“I…” She started before snapping out of it and looking up Robb who was standing statue still intently watching her. “I was just checking you were ok. I mean, no, I was coming to congratulate you. I’ll see you at the feast tonight?”

“You will.”

Margaery left him to tend to his wounds walking up to the Red Keep to wait for the feast to begin.


	3. -3-

-M-

“Will you be ok for the feast?” she asked her husband as Margaery returned to their chambers to, surprisingly, find him there.

“Yes, yes, I had just had a lot of wine and a funny turn,” he dismissed her as he busied himself with choosing which perfume to use, clinking the bottles as he picked them up and inspected each colored jar. She looked over his selection and compared it to hers. He had a far larger choice.

“Maybe when you present the token of victory to Robb Stark he will be able to present you with the eyeball in return,” she said sweetly watching his face from the side to gauge his reaction. It looked like he had just licked a nettle. It wasn’t so bad was it? She didn’t think so, people were hurt all the time and it was a risk one took when they entered a melee.

Margaery had always been lead to believe from her brothers that it was women who took far too long to dress and change and prepare for a feast or banquet. Renly disproved them. Loras was like him but he was able to fight and despite putting a little bit too much effort into his hair was just as speedy as Garlan. She sat in the chair she had claimed in her corner of their solar and waited as Renly primped and preaned himself. Finally he was ready as he strapped a bejewelled dagger around his waist where most men would wear a sword. 

They walked separately together with their guard until they reached entrance to the grand feasting hall were Renly placed his arm out for her link hers through. It was such a perfect example of their marriage, just for show. They were strangers right up until any eyes fell upon them. Margaery was already starting to accept this. Even though it had just been over a week she had realized it probably would be an ordeal to lose her virginity to a man who didn’t like her for being a her as he pictured her brother. So was happy to prolong that nightmare for as long as was possible. 

The King was already present, one thing that Robert Baratheon had to be given was the fact he was punctual if there was booze and roasted meat and women who weren’t his wife around. Speaking of Cersei she was absent as usual. She and Renly took their place of honor next to the King who greeted them boorishly, shouting and gesturing wildly with his enormous goblet which looked as if it could hold four full glasses of wine. 

The royal table filled up slowly, the lower tables were packed already, with the people who wished for the favor everyone at Margaery’s table was born into. Room had been made for the winner and runner up of the joust and for the winner of the melee. Though Robb Stark would have got a place at the table regardless, due to his birth and marriage.

The band struck up and Loras, Ser Beric Dondarrion and Robb Stark entered together. The winner of the archery wasn’t invited due to his low birth, which didn’t seem fair. They stood in front of the royal table as a hush fell over the feasting hall. It was Renly who had to present the golden miniature knight, silver knight and decorative gold and silver miniature sword to the respective winners. He looked annoyed. Presumably because Loras didn’t win as he thought and Loras thought that he ought to have won. Still he jumped at the chance of to revel in the pomp and circumstance. 

It was rather grand, there were huge banners displaying the sigils of the winners running around the hall next to the Crowned Stag and Lion of the King. The soft music which had been playing in the background stopped as a herald came forward with a scroll. That seemed rather unnecessary for three people. 

“The second place runner up in the tilts, from Highgarden, the Knight of the Flowers; Ser Loras Tyrell!”

Loras came forward to applause to take the tiny silver statue of a knight on a bucking destrier. 

“The winner of the melee, from Winterfell, the Young Wolf, Lord Robb Stark!” 

Robb came forward, he was uncomfortable and fiddling with the finery of his doublet as he took his token from Renly, bowing and exchanging a few quick words. 

“Finally the winner of the tilts, from Blackhaven, the Lightning Lord; Beric Dondarrion.”

There was a thunderous upsurge of applause and some whoops and cheers from the lower tables. It must be nice for someone who wasn’t from a great house to win over so many famed lords and knights Margaery reasoned. 

“A toast!” Robert Baratheon staggered to his feet, already drunk, probably from lunch and maybe breakfast too. “To our grand champions!” Everyone drank in unison as the winners took seats at the table. Robb Stark slid down next to wife. Margaery hadn’t even noticed her arrive. Myrcella took the gold and silver sword from him and turned it around in her hands looking marginally interested. 

Loras slumped down next to her and tossed his award sullenly onto the table. Renly leaned over her and started consoling her brother as if she were invisible. After the first course she offered to swap seats with one of them, they declined. After the second course she insisted getting angry that they were rude enough to talk over her. She moved down the row where she was seated next to Myrcella Baratheon who was sitting quietly next her husband who was staring into his goblet. He had regrown some dark stubble since she first saw him. It suited him she thought. It was rough and natural, unlike a certain husband of her’s perfectly kempt facial hair. 

“Good evening Princess,” she tried to strike up conversation with Myrcella. Robb jumped a little out of his bored trance to look over at her. 

“Good evening my lady,” Myrcella replied inclining her head in greeting.

“How are feeling after your victory my lord,” Margaery asked Robb. Choosing not to use his first name as they had done in private conversation, it would be rather inappropriate considering it would appear he and his wife hadn’t progressed to that stage. 

“Sore,” he smiled at her, before restraining his smile and glancing at his wife as if he had done something wrong. She was looking ahead taking in the feast. 

“At least you’re not half blind,” Margaery said.

“True, sore is better than eyeless, I didn’t mean to take the man’s eye he just… Well these things happen,” he shrugged. 

“He fought very bravely though,” Myrcella added. Well said, it added nothing. 

“Yes he did,” Robb said slightly crestfallen. 

“Very bravely,” Margaery said quietly. 

They struggled to make conversation for the rest of the meal. She noticed Robb was drinking more than his wife, who ate and drank precise portions of everything. Did she only act on what was socially appropriate for her station. She wondered how she acted in the bedroom? Probably just lay there and waited politely for it to finish just the same as a musical performance or a joust or a dinner. She had to shake her head to rid herself of those thoughts, though after a couple cups of wine it was difficult. Robb Stark in the training yard cropped up in her mind, his taut muscle rippling…

Shook her head again clearing it. 

-R-

He was sorer than he was letting on, the cut in his chest was fine but where Ser Crakehall or whatever his name was struck his shield over and over ached. His arm was almost limp. He had been happy that Margaery Tyrell had moved over to sit next to Myrcella, he had been glancing over at her in unguarded moments. His wife was her usual self unable to make the most simple conversation. Though the entertainment as always was King Robert drunk off his face shouting at the dancers and the musicians with requests and criticism.

It was also funny hearing him taunt a very wound up Loras Tyrell who clearly was annoyed that he had been unhorsed. Though Robb couldn’t tell if the Knight of the Flowers was more irked by the King’s taunts or the fact he had to break his whispered conversation with Renly who had completely ignored Margaery to acknowledge the King’s bullying.

A Lannister guardsman who had entered the hall snuck behind the royal table and spoke to Tommen who was on the other side of the King from Robb and then slide down the row to Myrcella and murmured something to her.

“Ok,” she nodded, folding up her napkin from her lap into a perfect square. “Mother wants to see my brother and I. So I shall take my leave.” She stood up and kissed Robb on the cheek, “I shall see you later my lord.”

“You too princess,” he replied with a forced smile. He watched her and Tommen say their farewells to their father and then left the hall. 

“You don’t have to see the Queen too?” Margaery asked him dryly. He shook his head and snorted with laughter. She patted the seat next to her which his wife had just left. “Come keep me company then Robb,” she said softly. He slid over. 

“The Queen doesn’t like me too much,” he told her moving his wine cup over with him and purposefully and childishly messed up the napkin his wife had folded. “She doesn’t want her children to be with anyone but her or her family.”

“Is that why the crown prince is visiting only his grandfather?”

“Yeah some tour that is,” Robb laughed. “Wait until you meet the little shit, he is a delight.” Oh shit, he realized he had let his true feelings slip. “I don’t mean that,” he corrected hurriedly.

“Yes you do!” She laughed slapping his arm playfully. She had an alluring laugh, it was gleeful and had almost a musical note to it. “I have heard nothing but bad things about him.”

“Yeah, I do,” Robb grinned slyly at her, “but we probably should talk about it here.”

They were interrupted by Ser Beric Dondarrion who came over to shake Robb’s hand.

“Sorry to cut in my lord, I just wanted to congratulate you on your victory in the melee and that I am a great admirer of your father.”

“Thank you Ser, congratulations are more due to you,” Robb said sincerely.

“Well done unhorsing my brother,” Margaery told him, “it’ll be hilarious to see him mope around for a month.”

“Thank you my lady, and congratulations on your wedding.”

“Oh thanks,” she said suddenly losing her good mood Robb noted. Ser Beric left and went back to his place of honor next to the King. They sat in silence for a couple of beats as Margaery took a few sips of her wine looking pensive. “How is your marriage working out for you?” She asked quietly. That disarmed him. People in the capitol didn’t talk like that, there was no honesty, it was all superficial and proper. 

“Erm… Fine.. No, good,” he replied frowning and now mirroring her awkwardness picked up his goblet and had a couple of sips of wine to excuse himself from having to speak. “You?” He tried after building up the confidence to speak. This conversation was more daunting to him than entering the melee. 

“Oh terrific! Being married Renly Baratheon is just amazing,” she said in a hushed voice after checking her husband was still wrapped up in her brother. “I hear, you’d need to ask my brother to clarify.”

Robb laughed hard at that, she joined in.

“That isn’t fair is it?” Robb asked and as if on cue Renly tapped Margaery on the shoulder to get her attention. Loras was standing up next to him.

“My lady I’m taking my leave Loras wants to show me… Erm what was it?” He tittered looking at Loras.

“Something,” he shrugged. 

“Right well its very important, I’ll see you in our chambers later,” he said the last half of that sentence much louder than anything he previously said and glanced around to make sure people had heard him. 

“Oh what a treat that will be,” Margaery sighed before rubbing her face and then draining her cup. 

“At least he is away enjoying himself,” Robb comforted her, “my wife will be currently lectured about what a savage I am.”

“You did blind a man today.”

“Well…”

“Some women don’t mind that in a man,” Margaery said softly looking down into her empty cup before looking up to meet his eyes biting lightly on her bottom lip. Robb felt his heart start to beat a bit faster he swore her eyes darted down his mouth. He exhaled and shivered as he did.

“More wine my lady?”

“Fuck sake Robb,” she broke the charged look, “Margaery how many bloody times?!” She said seriously looking stern and reprimanding. He was taken aback before she cracked a half smile. “You actually looked scared there! It was…” she stopped and shook her head.

“I’ve never heard a lady swear before,” Robb told her.

“Really?” She smiled her eyes chestnut eyes danced with mischief. 

“Though I’ve…” Robb stopped himself. 

“What?”

“No nevermind.”

“Go on, stop being dull. I get enough of that from literally everyone else in this city. I mean fucking city,” she corrected her eyes becoming positively alive with impishness. 

“I was going to say I haven’t met a lady like you before,” Robb said becoming shy and felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. 

“Is that compliment?”

“Of course it is,” Robb said very quickly before thinking. How was he this easily embarrassed? He wished he was back in the melee. 

“No need to be so bashful, I’m just teasing you Rob...B, b, b,” she emphasized the ‘b.’ “Actually be bashful it’s good fun to get that reaction.”

***

Robb had almost forgotten that the melee had happened early that day, he had enjoyed talking to Margaery at dinner. It really put in perspective how his wife really lacked a personality. He had just dismissed these concerns earlier on, thinking that’s just how highborn ladies were. Maybe they were all like that apart from Margaery, or maybe a princess was just the most extreme example. They had left the feast after an hour or so of talking about Winterfell and Highgarden and who in the capitol they didn’t like. Robb had thought it the gallant thing to offer to walk her back to her chambers. They weren’t too far from his. In the upper regions of the Red Keep. 

“I’m going to be hungover again,” Robb complained as they strolled through the halls. 

“Oh stop whining,” Margaery said she was walking slightly ahead of him walking to the windows to look out on one side and then to the other to inspect the tapestries and paintings. “You won a tournament today. Plus you get to return to a bed with someone in it.”

“Renly doesn’t sleep with you?”

“Ha! The first night, our wedding he was asleep before I could take the braids from my hair and since he has been with Loras… doing who knows what,” she said spinning round to him and shrugging dramatically with a knowing smirk. “Normally I wake up to him sleeping on the furtherest corner of the bed.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“That’s very honest of you.”

“Who are you going to tell? You’re a gruff Northern savage,” she said matter-of-factly. 

“Oh charming,” Robb laughed at the jape. 

“Wow, I haven’t seen this,” Margaery stopped in her tracks to break away from their path onto one of the balconies which littered the Red Keep’s upper levels. Robb followed her lead and walked out into the turret. It was a nice view. Similar to the one he and Myrcella shared of King’s Landing and Blackwater bay. 

“We shouldn’t really dally here of all places,” Robb said looking over his shoulder to check the corridor was empty, it was, he would be able to hear footsteps a mile away.

“Why not?” She asked him staring ahead over the city, drinking in the sights. 

“It doesn’t seem… Well it doesn’t look appropriate,” he said awkwardly. 

“Why?” She asked again turning to face him and resting her hands on the balcony. 

“People will think we’re up… People will talk.”

“No one is around,” she dismissed him. “Besides we’re not doing anything wrong,” she turned back to the capitol. Robb walked over to stand by her and rest his hands next to her and leaned over so they were at the same height. After a long pause of drinking in the scenery. “It’s beautiful… And you can’t smell the shit from up here.”

“Well that spoiled the moment,” Robb shook his head and pushed him off the railing to leave right at the same time as Margaery and they knocked into each other. “Ow,” he grimaced as the cut in his chest burned where her shoulder bumped him. 

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped and put her hand onto the place where he was cut. “Are you alright,” she asked her voice rife with concern. He leaned his back against the railing and made a show of how much pain he was in. “It was an accident. Sorry.” Robb had to laugh, breaking the facade of pretending he was hurt. “Oh you bastard,” she slapped the wound and he actually winced and breathed out hard through gritted teeth. “Serves you right!”

“Oh I’m not allowed to tease you?” He asked her with a cocky grin. She hadn’t moved back from him. She looked down at her feet and shook her head before looking back up at him and returned his grin as she pushed a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear. Robb lost his smile, he felt his blood rising and his heart beating. She looked so beautiful illuminated in the orange light thrown by the candles in the corridor behind them. She still hadn’t moved away from him. 

In silence they stood there for what could have only been seconds but felt to Robb as if it stretched to eternity. 

“Well?” Margaery said.

“Well what?” He asked confused.

“Are we just going to stand here awkwardly? Or are you going to kiss me?” She said as if he were a total moron. He must have debated it for a fraction of a second before he bent down, she rose up on her tiptoes. They both tilted their heads as their lips met. They kissed softly and chastely, their mouths separating after a moment and Robb gasped in shock as she put her hands on his waist and shoved him hard back into the railing and recaptured his mouth. His hands wrapped around the small of her back.

Her tongue pushed into his mouth as one of her hands grabbed the back of his hair and threaded her fingers through his curls. He quickly became aroused and dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her close in his body, pressing them together. 

The snapping noise of mailed boots down the corridor outside of the balcony they were on made Margaery and Robb jump apart. She snuck to side of the arch they entered balcony and leaned against it to hide.

“Good evening my lord,” an Arryn guardsman greeted him as he passed.

“Good evening,” Robb replied leaning against the railing trying to look normal. As if he oft stood out on one of the Red Keep’s balconies, flushed and uncomfortable. When the footsteps became distant Margaery stood back up and walked back to the railings to look over at the city.

“Well that ruined the moment,” she huffed.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Robb whispered. He was a married man after all, that was incredibly dishonorable of him.

“No?” Margaery turned to him, leaning on one elbow. He waited to see if she had more to say but she was waiting for his response. He couldn’t think of what to say, his mind was racing. He had wanted to kiss her, he wanted to scoop her up and take her to an empty chamber. Though he was a Stark and that wasn’t how Starks should behave. Still… As he contemplated this her hand came to rest on his arm and started rubbing up and down. “Don’t worry, I won’t mention this to anyone. Sorry.” She let go and went to leave him, without thinking Robb snatched her arm and stopped her in her tracks. 

She swung round to face him and looked expectantly. 

“Don’t go,” Robb said in a low voice. “I don’t want you to.”

She smirked at him knowingly as she balled her hands up in the front of his doublet and pulled him back down to her to kiss Robb again, more tenderly than before, her tongue seeking out his and caressing him. 

Robb was breathless when they broke apart. Her hands had grasped at him, pawing over his back and hair. It was everything he wanted with Myrcella. 

“It’s getting late,” he said to her quietly as he rested his forehead lightly against her’s. She just nodded their heads bumping lightly. 

“Let’s go.”

They re entered the corridor, it felt like a lifetime since they had parted from the corridor to take to the balcony. They walked in silence towards their chambers, not speaking until they came to her door.

“Goodnight Margaery.”

“Goodnight Robb.” 

She bit down on her lip and looked up at his mouth, before deciding against kissing him again. She smiled one last sad smile and opened her door and slid inside.

Fuck! Robb felt disconnected as he walked dreamily back to his own solar. Myrcella was already in bed when he got in. Thinking she was asleep he carefully removed his clothing and slid into bed next to her. 

“My lord?” She turned in the darkness to face him. “How was the remainder of the feast?”

“Pleasant enough,” he replied. He felt a bit guilty but his blood was also up from kissing Margaery. “How was your mother?”

“Same as always… She can be a blunt and unkind sometimes.”

Really? Robb couldn’t believe tonight of all nights his wife choose to open up a bit to him. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m ok, yes. It was nothing compared to what you did today. I’m failing as a wife talking about myself when you were cut open.”

“Don’t worry yourself, it was a scratch nothing more.”

Robb was in shock when he felt her fingers touching his chest in darkness searching out the wound.

“Is it painful?”

“No. Not at all.”

“You did so well.”

She turned her back to him and shifted closer to him tucking her body into his. He reacted to her movement but turning onto his side and wrapping his arm around her. Again to his surprise she held onto his arm hugging him tightly. His hand grazed against her breasts through her shift. Part of his mind shut down and another part took over. It was too much, he was already aroused returning to his bed but touching his wife’s perfect body pushed him over the edge. The guilt completely forgotten in the swirl of wine and lust.

In a turn of events she moved back and pushed her body even tighter to him. Robb pushed his hand down the top of her shift and grasp her breasts, covering one completely in his hand and squeezed the tender flesh. She shifted again, her arse rubbing over his hardening length. He was breathing hard as he raised himself up on his side to slide his other arm around her. She was lying on his bicep of one arm which he used to grasp at and a bit too roughly squeeze her other breast. He let his arm which was unrestricted trail down her body. 

Pushing her shift away and yanking it up to her stomach he pulled her top leg back over his leg and reaching between her legs took hold of himself and in the dark tried to line himself up with her slit. She gasped delicately as he pushed inside her, slick around him he was able to build up a rhythm quickly. One arm fondling her chest the other holding the inside of her thigh forcing her leg back so they fitted together. Her smooth, silky skin of her back ran in contrast up and down the hair on his chest and abdomen as they moved in synchronization with each other. 

If his previous guilt had been forgotten when he started now it was long gone as in gloom he imagined it wasn’t his wife he was inside of or whose chest he was touching and squeezing and pinching. He came inside her almost as soon as Margaery’s face came up in his mind’s eye. She let him slid himself out of her and instead of rolling over to her side of the bed tucked herself back into his body and put a hand on top of his hand which still held one her breasts. She gripped his hand keeping it in the same position. 

***

Robb opened his eyes to an unusual sight, in fact a first. His wife tangled up in him his hand still cupping her. His head felt hollow and his stomach upset. How did King Robert do that every night? 

The guilt from the night before came crashing down on him. He shouldn’t have done that with Margaery. He should have stopped it. Then using that energy with his wife… What a prick he was. His mother always told him ‘love comes,’ with marriage, maybe he and Myrcella were moving towards something better and he broke his vows willingly.

 

-M-

Her chamber was empty. Renly was away breaking his wedding vows. Though two could obviously play that game. Robb Stark was still outside her door, he couldn’t have made it more than a few yards. Margaery wasn’t going to rush to the door and fling it up open and invite him in or anything. She hadn’t even planned on kissing him, but she was glad that she did. 

It could have been subconscious. She went out of her way to watch him train, to flirt with him and to visit his tent. She stayed at dinner with him and wanted to walk her back to her room. Undressing for bed she couldn’t shake thinking about their kiss. It was passionate, the feeling of his rough stubble and his muscles under his doublet. Blowing out the candles she got under the sheets in her shift and tried to sleep.

That was impossible she was worked up and her blood was hot. Excited. She shut her eyes tight and thought back to the moment with Robb, his arms, his tongue, his hands holding her waist. She let her hand run up her inner thighs stopping in between her legs, touching herself and letting out a gasp. It helped relieve the fire coursing under her skin. Just as she began angling her finger to glide inside her the Solar was opened. Her husband came in loudly and stomped over to their bed and got in keeping his distance, thankfully, from her. 

Fuck sake.


	4. -4-

-M-

She had had sleepless nights before. When it had been too hot in Highgarden to sleep or when she was worried about her brothers competing in the lists when she had been younger. Especially with what happened to Willas. Margaery had never had a sleepless night like the one which had just past. Her skin felt hot, not from the heat but something else. She was wound up like a coil wrapped up to its maximum breaking point. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get rid of the image of her moment with Robb Stark on the balcony. Was that how the man next to her felt up until he went off his her brother, Loras, and they spent that energy together.

Everyone in the castle was hungover she noticed as she made her way to the Tyrell gardens to break her fast with her grandmother. Was she the only person who wasn’t? She had two cups of wine only. Was Robb Stark drunk? She didn’t think so. They had moments together when he hadn’t been drinking.

“Good morning Grandmother,” she greeted Olenna as she slid down onto the bench of the stone, rose covered gazebo. “Do you ever leave here? I mean its nice enough but there is a whole city.”

“Which smells of shit,” she waved her off dismissively. 

“You could always hold a handkerchief over your nose?” She suggested lightly. Humming to herself as she poured out a measure of iced water. 

“You’re in a good mood this morning my dear. Any reason for that?”

“No,” she replied sharply. A little too sharply to the point of being a bit suspicious. “Just happy today.” Her grandmother just hummed cynically. Luckily for Margaery Loras came to join them before she could be probed anymore. “Morning brother. Have you got over your crushing defeat yet?”

He grumbled and pulled a plate of bacon and bread to himself and started to eat grumpily.

“Use cutlery boy,” Olenna snapped rapping him on the knuckles with her walking stick. She could move at lightning speed when she needed to. Loras reverted to childhood and mumbled to himself and picked up his knife and fork dutifully. “So you’re still smarting from not being the best at knocking men off horses with sticks in this particular stick knocking waste of time and Margaery is full of life and bluster.”

“I’m not in a bad mood,” Loras said, clearly in a bad mood. “How was your evening after Renly and I left you at the feast sister?”

“Oh fine, I spoke with Robb Stark, you know the man who won his competition,” she teased.

“He is a handsome man,” Olenna said.

“He is,” Loras agreed as he was eating his bacon before looking up at the bemused reaction of his two female family members who were looking at him. He went a bit red and returned to his food after clearing his throat. 

“He must take after his mother then,” Olenna commented after leaving, what Margaery thought was a purposefully long pause, “I’ve never met his father, your oafish father has when he was playing at war. However he was never known as a handsome man.”

“I hadn’t given it much thought,” Margaery lied. 

“Right,” her grandmother said. Did she know something? She couldn’t. It was foolish to think she could. Most likely she was just engaging in her favorite hobby of winding people up. “You know Loras, I’m glad you and Renly have so much fun together,” she said her voice dripping with sarcasm. “However I fear at some point she needs to produce an heir.”

Produce an heir? How romantic, Margaery thought, she had to be impregnated out of some duty with a reluctant partner. It was hardly what she had she dreamed of and talked to her girlfriends about future marriages and love affairs. Being swept off her feet by a man who… Well didn’t fuck her brother. Her sights and expectations had been lowered rather a lot recently. Loras choked on his food at that comment. 

“Grandmother?!” He spluttered indignantly. 

“What? Don’t be so churlish and coy lad, no one can hear us here, I’ve made sure there are no spies or listeners in here in our lovely little garden,” she waved him off. 

“I don’t mind grandmother,” Margaery told her. 

“Well the King and your oafish father will mind.”

Margaery just shrugged.

“Yes even I admit that isn’t much of an incentive to have a primped and preened pretty boy who can’t swing a sword lie on top of you and call you ‘Loras,’ in your ear as he does what little he can.”

Wow. Her bluntness was such a refreshing change to the shined and polished veneer of all conversation in this capitol.

“Well I have to go meet your oafish father, he wants a place on the small council now he has joined families with the royal family. Master of being a fat idiot.” She rose and hobbled away on her cane muttering more unpleasant and uncomplimentary fictitious posts her son could fill. Margaery was sure she heard; ‘master of stupid little beards.’ 

“So…” Loras said moving around to sit at the head of the table. “Goodnight?”

“Uh-huh… I may have done something wrong,” she told him slyly. 

“Oh no, what?” He asked his mood picking up as he leaned in at the promise of potential gossip. It was ok to tell her brother, they shared everything and besides he was hardly in ANY position to complain or criticize. Not that he would. They had always trusted each other. 

“I kissed Robb Stark.”

“On the hand?”

“No obviously not.”

“He’s very handsome, married though,” Loras said processing that thought out loud though Margaery just had to cock an eyebrow for him to grin. “Oh ok, yeah I can’t really get on your back about that. That’s what explains your chipper mood does it?”

“Certainly does,” she smiled. “His wife is the biggest dullard I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah I know that feeling.”

“Right… Oh wait hey!” She slapped his arm realizing the insult. 

“Just be careful, you don’t want to be caught with the King’s good-son.”

“I don’t even know what will happen now. Maybe it was just a one off.”

“But you don’t want it to be?”

Margaery just had to smile and shrug happily letting the gesture convey her feeling. 

“Well at least he has dark hair so if he gets you with child it would possibly look like Renly.”

“Hey! Watch it, things aren’t… It isn’t like that. Besides what will you do? Men can’t get men pregnant.”

“Not for lack of trying,” he drawled cockily. 

“Eww.”

He just laughed. “Be careful sister, you’re not an expert at sneaking around are you?”

“The Knight of the Flowers is telling someone else how to be inconspicuous?” 

“Fair point. Just be careful.”

 

-R-

Robb spent a couple of days inside his solar, barely leaving. He told Myrcella he needed to rest up from the melee. Though in reality he was ok, sore at worst. He just didn’t know what he would do if he saw Margaery Tyrell. After their moment. Robb was racked with guilt about it. The worst part of it was his guilt wasn’t based on the fact he had kissed another woman. It was the fact he wanted to again, and do more than just that. 

Today he had to attend the bi-weekly council meeting. Which he loathed. Though it should be interesting as a spectator today. Mace Tyrell had pushed his way onto the council. Robb had no bad blood with the Tyrells. His father had forced the Lord of Highgarden and Paxter Redwyne to dip their banners in the rebellion but the war was all but over at that point and no blood had been spilled. However. Another member of the council certainly had bad blood. Stannis Baratheon had eaten rats and leather when he and his garrison had been holed up in Storm’s End under siege from Mace Tyrell.

So as long as Robb continued his brilliant tactic of just agreeing with Jon Arryn and shooting the Grand Maester dirty looks when he wasn’t looking the meeting would be bearable. It had the potential to be a great distraction to his inner conflict about his honor which had dominated his mind as of late.

“First thing is first;” Jon Arryn began proceedings. “Welcome to Mace Tyrell, our newest addition to the council. We are yet to assign a role to him but he is very welcome.” Stannis snorted with derision at that. “And second congratulations are due to our youngest member Lord Stark for his victory in the melee.” 

It was actually a rather depressing sound hearing a handful of people clap for a brief time with varying levels of enthusiasm. 

“Now our first order of business…” 

It was rather hard to pay attention to tax collections in different provinces or the minor marriages of small lords. Stannis droned on and on at length about the upkeep and maintenance of the navy. Mace Tyrell huffed once during Stannis’ report and the icy stare he received for doing so was pure hatred and made him shrink back in his chair. 

“Lord Stannis may I have a private word,” Lord Arryn concluded the meeting as Robb left as soon as possible. Rushing out into the hall.

“Young lord Stark!” He was called back. It was Mace Tyrell because of course it would be. “I was wondering if I could a quick word with you?” He caught up, his belly jiggling hilariously as he walked briskly over to him.

“Certainly my lord,” Robb replied as what else could he say? No piss off tubby? Appraising the man he didn’t look like a warden. Though the only other warden he had met was his father… Oh and Jon Arryn so yeah he wasn’t a particularly impressive figure considering his rank. How did that man produce Margaery? Or even Loras. Probably best not to think of Loras as an attractive man all things considered. 

“I just thought it would be correct for me to introduce myself formally, well done on your victory in the melee by the way,” he spoke with such pomp. It was infuriating. “I just wanted to clear the air between us.”

“Oh that’s good of you,” Robb replied slowly, “I’m not sure why you would need to… My lord,” he added hurriedly remembering the courtly language he hated to use. 

“Well after your father and I had that unpleasantness at Storm’s End, I wanted to make sure there was no bad blood between our two great houses.”

“Of course,” Robb said. He hadn’t even thought of it. He was all of one year old when it happened. “I hadn’t even considered us enemies my lord.”

“Wonderful news my lad,” Mace beamed at him slapping him on the arm. “Your father is a very honorable man, I’m glad to see his son lives up to that reputation.” That made Robb twinge with guilt. He had acted dishonorable with this man’s daughter. Though in contrast this man’s son acted rather dishonorable himself so that needed to be taken in consideration. There was a long pause and Robb realized again he was failing to live up to the courtly, royal, highlord nonsense.

“You are very gracious to say so my lord, I’m very glad you are on the council,” he smiled insincerely back. Mace patted him again and walked off. Great. Now he needed a bath to cleanse himself of saying something so false and disingenuous. 

***

“How was council my lord?” Myrcella asked him as he sat in the freshly filled bathtub in the corner of their room. 

“Oh, fine, dull, Mace Tyrell has joined the council,” Robb replied from the water splashing the water around like a petulant child would. It felt peculiar to just sit in a bath while someone else was writing at a desk a few yards away. 

“I’m sure he’ll be a fine addition,” she said in her usual pleasant tone. Yes I’m sure he will Robb thought slightly annoyed at how tedious the answer was. Perhaps he should start to read so he had something to do. He dunked under the water and got out of the bath dripping. 

“Could you pass me a towel?” He asked looking around for something to dry himself. She picked up a towel and walked towards him averting her eyes from his nakedness. That was an odd thing for a wife to do with her husband wasn’t it? He couldn’t help but think back to Margaery visiting him in his tent after the melee and how she couldn’t stop herself looking at his body. The guilt he felt was slowly being worn down with an urge to talk to her again. 

He considered having sex with his wife to help subdue this frustration but decided that made him feel too much like a bad person and went down to the training yard sending for Alyn so he could train himself into an exhaustion. An exhaustion in which he couldn’t overthink.

 

-M- 

Loras had come to her chamber to find Renly. She had asked if they had used their marital bed together when she wasn’t there and he smiled slyly. That was gross. She had shouted at him and told him to get out and ordered some servants a bit too rudely to change the linen immediately. Walking through the castle was dull. Was life this dull here all the time? She couldn’t go horseriding as did often in the Reach. She couldn’t just sit in the gardens with her handmaidens and have them natter about things of no importance. That was probably the reason so many of the lords and ladies and especially kings who resided in King’s Landing drank so heavily. Just to pass the time. 

If it was intentional it really wasn’t meant to be, but she found herself walking a path towards the training courtyards and then from there to where she had found Robb Stark training for the melee. Maybe she did want to see him. If anything she wanted to talk privately to him. See if he was alright with what happened. She didn’t want to scare him off. It had been a couple days since they had kissed, though that was usual, she had no reason to. There had been no royal appointments for them both to attend and he had a wife afterall. 

The Starks were known for the adherence to their honor and their code. So extramarital… Whatever they had done probably ate him up. She just didn’t think of it like that. 

When she happened upon Stark training Margaery had to pause. What now? Wait for him to finish? Ask him if he was having a nice day? Was a rather short sighted plan to come down here. She knew it was wrong to just come and stare at the man, so kicking herself walked past the yard to the exit to the Red Keep. 

Margaery stopped at the portcullis and looked down from Aegon’s Hill to see the city sprawling out in front of her; both Visenya’s and Rhaeny’s hills. One held the Grand Sept of Baelor where she was married the other did once hold the Dragonpit but that had been destroyed long ago by a peasant’s revolt. 

“Planning on visiting the city?” 

She spun on her heel to see Robb Stark, she broke a smile at him coming over to meet her. He was still tying the leathers of his tunic up, she could see the angry red mark of the forming scar over his chest. 

“Maybe, I don’t have a guard,” she shrugged, hinting strongly to him. 

“I would offer myself if that would be enough?”

“I guess it would do.”

He smirked at her trying to hide the grin as he fiddled with the last of the ties on his tunic. She was almost tempted to him not to bother doing the thing up but that would be rather inappropriate. 

They walked together down to the River row which lead from the Red Keep to the Mud gate then the King’s gate. It was an elevated path which was heavily guarded and overlooked Blackwater Bay on side and the entire city on the other. The sea breeze meant it smelled of the cleanliness of the sea rather than the shit and burning and rot that was the capitol. 

“Were you lurking around the courtyards?” Robb asked her when they were walking a distance from anyone else and out of earshot.

“No,” Margaery almost blushed at that. Almost.

“Oh I thought I saw you lingering in the corridors of the training yard. I must have been mistaken.”

“Do you always train shirtless?” Margaery asked quickly changing the direction of conversation to put the onus on him instead of her. Even in the short time she had known Robb it was fun to watch him get uncomfortable and blush. “I was just wondering?” She asked with mock innocence. 

“No,” he stifled a cough and got an attractive pink blush beginning to grow under his stubble and spreading to his cheeks. “No,” he recomposed himself. Margaery had to stop herself laughing. “I normally wouldn’t because it’s cold in Winterfell and…”

“That would be where the Winter part of the name comes from then?” She asked again with mock innocence.

“Yes, it would be indeed,” he said slowly a small hint of a smile playing over his lips. “In Winterfell it’s a lot colder and I’m not built for this heat so I have to train without a shirt not to caught ablaze down here. Sorry about that.”

“I certainly don’t mind, there might have been a reason I was watching,” she said doubling the inflection of pretend ignorant flirting with him. Margaery was both gauging his reaction and just wanted to flirt. She got the reaction she wanted, the reddish in his cheeks growing and the smile returning to play over his lips subtly. “How was it in the melee? Wearing armor? Were you cooking alive?” The ghost of a grin disappeared and a deep frown replaced it.

They walked in silence while she racked her mind what had happened. Oh shit. His grandfather was burned alive wasn’t he? That’s what kicked off the Rebellion.

“Sorry Robb I forgot.”

“Oh don’t worry, I didn’t think it some veiled insult or anything,” Robb reassured her throwing her a fixed, insincere smile, clearly still distracted. 

She reached out and touched his arm and squeezed his bicep in apology but withdrew soon as they were in a very public place and her grandmother had told her and she was always vigilant to remember that there were spies everywhere. Ears and eyes everywhere. She let him think it over for a while in peace. Her own grandfather died by riding over the edge of a cliff while hawking; that was a difficult thing to make a reference to by accident.

“Your father wanted to talk to me after the council meeting,” Robb started up conversation again.

“Oh really? What’s he master of has that been decided?”

“No,” he snorted with laughter, “he’s just ‘an advisor,’ like me for now.” Phew. He wanted to talk again! 

“What are you?”

“The same...” Oh right he had just said that. 

“How fun.”

“Riveting. Yeah I love tax collection and book collecting, it’s terrific.”

Margaery stopped in her tracks and he skidded to halt. She looked up at him and and scrunched her face up like a child acting they were thinking really hard on something as she appraised him. She put a hand to her chin and stroked it as she shook her head. Robb was looking really confused and if she wasn’t mistaken self-conscious. “No, not very good at sarcasm,” she finally said with mock reverence. 

“Huh,” he looked dumbstruck.

“You’re lucky you’re handsome,” she decided on with a nod before moving again.

“I’m pretty sure that’s an insult but I’ll ignore it and just take the compliment.”

“How wise.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen a highborn lady walking this far from the Red Keep.”

“My wedding wasn’t too long ago and it was over there;” Margaery pointed to the Great Sept of Baelor. 

“I… I didn’t.. Mean, there were guards and escorts and things,” he replied flustered.

“Still.”

“You can’t just say still.”

“Still,” she suppressed a giggle. She stopped just before the Mud Gate and put her hands on the brickwork of the battlements to look out on the Bay. The Blackwater was pretty, she had been to the Arbor before but it didn’t have the hustle and bustle of the capitol’s port. Trading ships pulled in and out trailing off into the horizon with warships patrolling the water. “It’s quite nice here.”

“The Mud Gate?” Robb laughed standing next to her, not that close, keeping a formal distance. “Oh it’s lovely here, Stannis keeps talking about the need to fortify the thing in case some yet unknown force attacked it.”

“Should you be telling me about the inner workings of the defence of the Realm?”

“Why should I be worried that you’re some sort of spy?”

“Just be suspicious if I ask you for any blueprints of the curtainwall,” she told him. “What do people do here? It’s so dull. Crushing dull.”

“Sorry my company isn’t thrilling enough for you,” Robb drawled. 

“Well apology accepted but still.”

“Still,” he mumbled. “It’s either practice with a sword or sewing, maybe singing.”

“I could sew and sing to save time then I would still have most of the day to kill,” Margaery said, “most people seem happy enough to just be here, though they seem to drink a lot more than in Highgarden.”

“Or Winterfell.”

“I think I need to develop some enemies and allies to complain about behind their backs and spread gossip, that seems like a good plan.”

“Would I be an ally or an enemy?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” she sighed and turned her back to the bay and rested on the battlements looking instead over the city. “Are we just going exchange pleasantries?”

“These are pleasantries?!”

“They certainly are, anyway are we going to ignore what happened the other night?” She asked him seriously. She was resting on the battlements facing the city he was resting on his palms on the battlements looking over the Narrow Sea still. “Or if I try to talk to you about it will get all shy and awkward?”

“Hmm, well, I don’t know, I… I…”

“Great, I was worried that you would regret it and get all weird.”

“I do regret it.”

Margaery’s heart sank, that was the one thing she had being absolutely dreading. She felt drained and isolated all in one moment everything had crashed down. 

“We shouldn’t have… Shouldn’t have,” Robb said somberly. “Yet, the thing I regret… Is not what I should regret.”

“What do you mean?” She asked quietly, unsure of this, where it would go. The unknown wasn’t a very nice position to be occupying. 

“I should regret breaking my honor as a married man, with a married woman no less, but, that isn’t it. It’s different. I regret doing it as now it’s all I think of, when I’m eating, training, with my wife. It… It isn’t right but I regret that I think of you…” Robb explained. “That isn’t even true!” He threw a loose stone from the wall off the side. “I regret that I don’t regret it. It’s the absence of regret.”

“How romantic,” Margaery sighed dramatically. “So you’re not going to run off and try to hide from me then?”

Robb turned to face the city leaning back on the battlements next to her. 

“No. I can’t promise that, but I don’t intend to hide, I’m here accompanying you aren’t I?”

“True. Cheer up,” she nudged him. “We haven’t done anything wrong… Well. We don’t need to worry anyway.”

“I suppose not.”

 

-R-

He hadn’t stopped thinking about Margaery Tyrell and how he worded his admission to her. It was such a sloppy terrible attempt to express himself. He just didn’t want her to feel bad, he really didn’t want that. Though what could he say in public? As his father had told him with his parting words after he and the Stark family left was to guard his words and actions in this place. That there were spies everywhere for everyone. He always forgot. It was unnatural and difficult to constantly be aware of one’s surroundings. Usually he remembered after saying or doing something he shouldn’t and thinking ‘oh shit some cunt is probably going to tell some other cunt about that.’ 

Still. He could have handled that a lot better than telling her he felt bad that he thought of her. It was almost an insult to say that he felt so guilty that he liked her. He wasn’t a wordsmith. Nor a poet. Could have still tried to think a bit more about his words. He had just seen her when he was training and just jumped into action, he wanted to talk to her, be near her and just moved to follow her without taking any thought for what he would do or say. 

When he returned to his solar he was grimy and sweaty from training and had the servants bring more water for another bath. It seemed indulgent to have two bathes in a day but he didn't want Myrcella to be bothered by him being dirty and not able out of politeness be able to say anything to him. If he was already being awful to her, without her knowing albeit, then smelling badly was a thing he couldn’t put her through as well. It was much nicer when he had the room to himself. It was relaxing.

That was spoilt the moment he thought it as the door was opened by a red cloak and Myrcella came in. She looked around the solar seeing him she smiled and walked over with her hands behind her back.

“I have a gift for you my lord,” she beamed happily. She was really excited. Sometimes Robb did forget she was only fifteen and just out of childhood. “It is some of the perfume from my Uncle Renly’s perfumist!” She brandished a green tinted glass bottle. 

“Oh great thank you so much princess,” he smiled awkwardly from his bathing position. He didn’t really want to wear perfume. It was such a terrible gift for him of all people. Northerners were thought of as savages compared to their Southern counterparts and though Robb thought that was a rather harsh appraisal, perfume was not a Northern thing. He got out of the bath and she averted her eyes again from his naked body.

She would have sex with him, be naked in front of him but couldn’t look at him nude. It was an odd mindset Robb just couldn’t understand. She fetched a towel for him and he dried in full view of her as she looked out from the balcony. He did wonder what she might think. If he asked her the reply would be mundane. ‘Oh just how nice the nice thing which is nice is.’ 

“Any plans this evening my lord?” She asked him when he wrapped the towel around his waist.

“No princess, I trained most of the afternoon. I will probably just stay in our solar.”

“I was thinking the same. I think my mother is busy with Ser Jaime and I don’t think there are any royal engagements though if there are I’m not involved,” she told him. A ‘I’m staying in,’ would have sufficed. Oh great an evening alone with his wife. Robb just couldn’t think of anything to say at all to that so just wandered in his towel to the bed and lay down wondering if he could get to sleep early and just sleep away the boring hours. 

***

They had food brought to their solar and ate in silence. Nothing made time passer slower than being able to hear someone else chewing while Robb tried really hard to think anything at all to talk about which wouldn’t elicit a single sentence answer. He failed at that. He hadn’t had this problem with Margaery, they didn’t seem to have a problem speaking naturally. Though he hadn’t known her for very long. He hadn’t had anything to talk about with Myrcella from day one. 

Once the servants had come to take away their meal and light the candles Robb just lay in the bed while Myrcella read quietly at the desk. It was annoying him. That he had nothing to do, that she was perfectly content to sit there reading. She wasn’t doing anything wrong and the fact he shouldn’t be annoyed but was was annoying him too. 

Finally Myrcella went behind the screen they had in their solar in what was her area and changed for bed into her shift and got into bed next to him blowing out the candles. 

Falling asleep Robb dreamed of Margaery Tyrell, it was a strange disjointed dream at best, it was her running through a rose garden as he followed but was unable to run himself. She kept turning to look over her shoulder and smile alluringly. 

Waking in the middle of the night to urinate Robb padded out of the solar to find one of the privies. He could have used the bowl in his room but waking Myrcella like that wasn’t an appealing idea. He left the privy and walked towards to his room before stopping in his tracks. Deciding instead to have a midnight walk. It was well past midnight. The upper halls of the Red Keep were completely deserted. He took a path towards the balcony where he had that moment with Margaery. 

Standing on the turret he placed his hands wide on the railing and looked out on the city. It was hardly asleep, the brothels and bars would be open until after dawn. The armorers would be working late to trying to fulfil orders some pushy, jumped up knight. He wished Margaery would come join him… It just made me feel a little pathetic and lonely. Robb chastised himself and stalked back to his room and slipped into bed next to his sleeping wife debating whether to wake her or not. Guilt told him it best not to.

“My lord where did you go?” Her dainty voice broke his monologue. She even called Robb ‘my lord,’ at three or four in the morning.

“Just to the lavatory.”

“Oh you woke me is all.”

“Sorry that wasn’t my intention.” To his surprise she moved up close to him and rested her head on his arm and let her arm come to rest on his chest. Did she want to have sex? It was unusual for her to touch him at any other time, unless she was trying to get him to dress in a certain way more to her pleasing. He hadn’t wished to wake her but now she was awake… Robb shifted down in the bed so they were face to face as he rolled onto his side and kissed her, missing her mouth at first in the dark catching the corner of her lips. She helped him and moved so they could kiss. 

He threw off the sheets and pulled up her shift, running her hand up the inside of her thigh wondering if she would take the lead and climb on top of him and take some sort of initiative. After a few moments of just biennially kissing in the blackness he stifled a sigh of frustration and propped himself up on his elbow and pushed himself on top her. Positioning himself between her legs and waiting a moment again hoping for once she would take him in hand and guide him into her. He didn’t think she had ever touched his length once. Realizing this was the best he was going to get bowed down and slowly pushed himself inside her slowly as her breath hitched delicately. 

Her arms didn’t come to rest on his shoulders they stayed limp at her side as he got into a hard rhythm inside her. Guilt aside and using the darkness as a friend he pictured someone else was lying beneath him and he soon finished after picturing her.

 

-M-

It was impossible to sleep, Renly was busy somewhere else in the castle with her brother. She getting increasingly lonely of an evening, locked away in her solar. Rolling out of bed she walked to her windows and looked out at the sky. There was a glint of sun teasing its way up off on the horizon, it was dark still with probably a few hours until dawn still. She threw a cloak around her shoulders and covered her body. Throwing open her doors she walked out into the corridors. 

No one was around. What an eerie sight, empty alleys without lit candles. Where could she go? What was the point of leaving the solar in the first place? The only place she knew of was that balcony. That one. It was close to her solar, she glanced down the hallway, Robb Stark and Myrcella were only a few doors down. Standing on the balcony she looked over the city… What had she been expecting? Robb to turn up in the middle of the night? To sweep her off her feet? She was being a ridiculous idiot. 

***

“Did you have a good night?” Margaery asked Loras sarcastically at breakfast in the gardens as she glumly picked at some fruit. “Fun was it?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “You?”

“Not really… No, there is nothing to do at all.”

“No married men to galavant around with?” he smirked at her.

“I wish I hadn’t told you that now.”

“If you want to use your own room for… Well you know, just tell me and Renly and I will surely be able to find something to occupy ourselves with.”

“Losing tournaments?”

He just grumbled and poked at his food and muttered something about practicing and stalked off leaving her alone. He was right though, in a weird way. She needed to do something, something more to occupy herself. Margaery pushed aside her plate of fruit and stood up with purpose. Not that she had a purpose to put her mind to. Finding Robb Stark maybe. Walking through the castle she was envious of the servants who were rushing to work. Having something to do with their days. 

Grumbling to herself and trying not to look grumpy considering every person she passed was likely an informer for someone. As if by fate she bumped straight into Robb Stark, almost knocking into him in the corridors of the Red Keep. Though considering they lived in the same castle and had to use the same halls it was more of an inevitability they ran into each other rather than fate. If she spent a lot of time thinking of him then it wasn’t unlikely that she would have been or recently have been thinking of him when they bumped into each other…. Yeah.

“Morning Margaery,” he greeted her. 

“Goo…”

“Stark!” 

She turned quickly on her feet to see where the call had come from. Her father?! Her father; the Lord of Highgarden was waddling down the hall flanked by two men in full plate steel and green capes. Poor bastards, it was far too hot for plate armor, it was all for effect as it looked important and made him look important. 

“Oh good morning dearest daughter,” he greeted her kissing her on each cheek. “Lord Stark, I was thinking in the interest of making new friends and forgetting past… Past whatever has occurred years ago we should dine together. Bring your wife come and eat with us at our gardens. We hav… Oh Margaery would mind letting us speak alone?”

“Certainly father,” Margaery said through gritted teeth. She tried to catch Robb’s eye and mouth the word ‘balcony,’ at him before her father put an over familiar hand on his shoulder and lead the Northerner off. 

Well that would be an experience… Sitting with her family, her husband, her husband’s lover; who did come under the category of her family and Myrcella Baratheon… who was the niece of her absentee husband. Was this the gods trying to get back at her? She wished life in the capitol wasn’t quite so dull and now it had become a little too exciting. Not exciting more stomach churderling awkward to even think of. 

Perhaps she should just sit in the gardens where no one could force her into awkward situations. Hopefully Robb had read her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete aside:
> 
> Viserys: "I am the last Dragon!"
> 
> Daenerys: "Are you the last Dragon?"
> 
> Viserys: "I am the last Dragon!"
> 
> Daenerys: "No listen to the words in the sentence; are you the last Dragon?"
> 
> Viserys: "I'm a Drago..."
> 
> Daenerys: "No, no, no listen are you a Dragon?"
> 
> Viserys: "No I'm man."
> 
> Daenerys: "Man?"
> 
> Viserys: "A man... One of the men."
> 
> Daenerys: "One of the men?"
> 
> Viserys: "One of the many human males."
> 
> Daenerys: "Good."
> 
> I just solved the sibling jealousy and rivalry between the two Targaryens and they would have invaded and re-established their dynasty by the end of book 1. Not really relevant to anything else though...


	5. -5-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know Robb isn't that nice at the moment but I have plans.

-M-

The disrespect her father showed her by pulling off Robb and deciding that they needed to talk alone was irritating her. Not that much, her father was normally doting and supportive. Much more so than any other father who she had met. Who treated their daughters like a ticket to better status for their family. Though maybe when you are already the greatest lord of your Kingdom and one of the seven in the lands you didn’t need worry so much about such things. If anything she was finding a distraction to get away from the nerves she felt at the idea of having some weird family meal. Some strange mix of people who didn’t want to be there. 

“Your father probably just wants Robb’s sister to marry Willas and strengthen his ties with another great house,” Renly told her as he paid her little attention. Instead his attention was dedicated to shaving his beard carefully to keep it in the exact same shape it always was. This was a long process which took fifteen minutes everyday. Every. Day. “It worked for my brother.”

“In winning the throne?” Margaery asked cuttingly. 

“Yes,” he replied missing her sarcasm. Did he think her stupid? He might. He had no reason not to. They hadn’t spoken anything of any worth ,not given the chance and honestly didn’t have the inclination. Perhaps he saw her like Myrcella. The princess was close to her age and was one of the few highborn girls her dear husband had socialized with. She had been ready for this wonderful dinner for at least twenty minutes. She was waiting on Renly. Margaery depressed herself thinking to the future and thinking how many hours and then days would be wasted away in her life waiting for him to primp and preen himself. 

Finally the left. Finally it felt like a very long time had passed. She had dressed in simple, elegant green, having her hair pinned back simply. She wanted to look good but not so good as to be suspicious for making such an effort to look spectacular. 

They walked towards the rose gardens gifted to the Tyrells standing a couple feet apart. They looked like two strangers walking together. Certainly not a married couple. Not even friends. Like two people walking to an appointment. Her grandmother was already there, in the stone gazebo where she had step up shop.

“Hello, Grandmother,” Margaery rushed to kiss her on each cheek. 

“Yes, yes, good to see you, and you Lord Renly, are you ready for this farce?”

“Farce? No need to be cynical grandmother,” Margaery said despite the fact she agreed wholeheartedly with that assessment. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely. Are we eating here?”

“Yes, your father, the oaf that he is…”

“Grandmother! Lord Renly doesn’t need to hear this!”

“He should know some of our family have some wits about them, I don’t know how much talking he does with Loras, but it isn’t a bad thing to show we have some wits about us,” the Queen of Thorns waved her off. “Anyway, back to your original question before that unnecessary distraction; yes we’re eating here. Your father wanted to have some ludacris table brought out and hundreds of courses and a tablecloth made out of gold or something stupid like that. I set him right.”

“That does seem a bit over the top,” Renly agreed with her taking a seat on the other side of the gazebo than Margaery. She caught Olenna giving him a bemused glance at that.

“You think it’s over the top Lord Renly?” She asked him leaning on her elbows. Margaery saw that look in her grandmother’s eye; she was playing with her food before she went in for the kill. “That’s interesting, would you prefer a low-key affair? I could see how that might suit you. You always give me the impression of a very low-key man. Do I smell perfume?”

“Yes…” Renly replied awkwardly being put on the backfoot. 

“Well I know a small and muted affair would suit you I just hope that this Stark lad doesn’t mind that we don’t have jugglers and firebreathers here to entertain us,” she smirked at him with her toothless smile. “I know Winterfell is known its overtop celebrations and feasts.”

“Right,” Renly looked put out and turned away from the gazebo to motion for a server to bring the wine. They were early. Only because Margaery told Renly the dinner was happening quite a bit before the actual fact so they wouldn’t be late due to his long preparation. Normally she barely touched alcohol, having seen the foolishness and embarrassment she long avoided that it could lead to. However tonight, tonight was going to be awful so might as well fortify herself against it. 

***

Her father and mother arrived seperately. Alerie Hightower slid into the stone gazebo elegantly greeting everyone. She was a quiet woman. Margaery certainly got on well her mother but she had become more of a spectre of her life as she grew out of childhood. Instead spending more time with Willas. Something that she certainly didn’t begrudge her nor him. 

Her father arrived with Robb Stark and Princess Myrcella. In the backdrop of the rose garden Myrcella was stunning, truly breathtaking. Her golden hair was intricately plaited and braided resting on her narrow shoulders. Her dress was sweeping over the patioed ground, in the red and gold of house Lannister, flaring at her hips and revealing the tops of her breasts. She didn’t like the idea she was somehow in competition with this woman… If it were based on looks surely she would lose every time. Many people had told Margaery she was beautiful but whether she believed this flattery or not but even if she did accept this Myrcella Baratheon blew her out of the water. 

Mace blustered his apologies about the location of where they had to eat and the lack of pomp and circumstance. Insisting, rather rudely, to a servant to fetch cushions for the princess. That was fair enough. 

“Good stuff! Good stuff!” Mace boomed sitting down. “Loras boy run, you’re late.” He shouted at her brother who jogged over his sword clattering against his leg hilariously as he joined them. Already a shambles. Not wanting to be obvious she had barely looked at Robb. He sat opposite her with his wife a little higher up positioned on her cushions. “Wonderful! Look at us all gathered here!” Her father continued. Seven hells Margaery hoped he wouldn’t talk like this for the entirety of this ill-conceived dining plan. 

“Oh shut up Mace,” her grandmother interjected. Oh of course not, Margaery smiled to herself, the Queen of Thorns would not allow such ridiculousness in her presence. “You don’t want our guests thinking us dramatic fools?!”

“Mother,” Mace shrunk into a bashful childish state after the reprimand. 

“Come now mother,” Alerie Tyrell came her husband’s aid.

“Come now what? Should we have all our conversation written down and handed to a herald so it can have the proper resonance? Also don’t call me mother, if I had given birth to you I’m sure I’d remember it,” she waved her off. Maybe this dinner wouldn’t be too bad. Margaery had forgotten to factor in Olenna Redwyne. She even had to stifle a laugh by pretending to cough. She glanced up at Robb who was biting his lip, was he trying not to smile as well? He hadn’t been exposed to the Queen of Thorns yet. 

“Let’s eat then,” her father said dejectedly waving over the first course and insisted on getting out some caste of arbor wine. It was supposedly a very nice vintage. 

“So this is awkward isn’t it?” Olenna said after a few moments of silent chewing of olives and sipping of wine. “Almost as if we have no reason to eat together… Oh well. You there Stark; did you enjoy blinding a man?”

“I did yes,” Robb replied, Margaery could see the ghost of a smile playing over his lips as he moved his jaw side to side to hide the smirk. “I was aiming for both eyes but…” He held up his hands palm up. 

“My husband is joking, of course, Ser Crakehall was very gallant,” the princess finally spoke. As if anyone had believed anything but. There were mutters of agreement. She was royalty Margaery supposed. She hadn’t really considered that, that Myrcella was above them in the pecking order. 

“Yes he was,” Robb said put out and dejected reaching for his goblet and draining it. 

“This is very nice, look us all,” Mace started up with his bluster once more having drained his cup and gesturing for more wine to be poured. “Baratheon, Stark and Tyrell, allied and friends, fast friends.” 

“We aren’t friends Mace and we won’t be if you keep saying stupid things like that,” Olenna cut him down again. “Friends are made through conversation not just making grand statements. Now Stark tell me, King’s Landing… Do you hate it? I would imagine you would?”

Robb choked on his drink. “Well… No… It’s… It’s a cultural shock I suppose,” he said neutrally. “I’m happy to be with my beloved wife,” he said hollowly. He shifted back and forth on the stone bench.

“Well there are no men who wouldn’t be happy with a beauty like our princess here,” Olenna commented dryly, “well maybe I could think of a couple of men,” she glanced at Renly and Loras brazenly. “But of course and we’re honored by your presence princess, however Starks are known not to like crossing the neck.”

“My father had rather unpleasant needs to cross the neck mine was a very pleasant one,” he replied diplomatically again.

“Come now come now, let’s not talk of such things,” Mace said loudly shooting daggers at his mother who was unphased by his anger.

“Just because you picked the wrong side, you’re lucky you didn’t fight the boy’s father or I would have to produced another male heir and I was tired and too old by then,” Olenna replied snarkily. This was unbelievable. Maybe one day Margaery would be of an age where she just didn’t care what others thought. She wasn’t being mean. Her grandmother walked a very fine line between being cheeky and being rude. She wasn’t rude it was just cheek. Pointing out truths which everyone else wanted to steer around and avoid.

“We’re all friends now,” Myrcella spoke up again silencing everyone. Her grandmother didn’t seem to be rude to her, well she didn’t deserve it. 

“True enough princess, true enough, excuse my mother she’s getting old, let’s have our first course, we had some lovely fresh fish caught today prepared,” Mace took control again.

“Getting old? I am old.”

***

It was actually quite nice… Considering she had been preparing for the worst. Her father went on and on about his plans for the council and the realms and how great all these new allegiances were. Renly didn’t offer much, Loras offered up nothing. The more the wine flowed the more Margaery caught her brother and husband exchanging looks. The more wine she consumed she found it harder and harder not to look at Robb. There was no reason for anyone to be suspicious of her looking at him but equally she didn’t want to do anything which would place such suspicions in their minds. 

 

-R-

Stop looking at Margaery. Stop. He kept telling himself that but forgot and looked at her. Her heart shaped face and intelligent eyes sparkling and dancing with mischief every time her grandmother said something. He liked the woman. He hadn’t met anyone like her, and hadn’t expected to, especially in King’s Landing of all places. Just cutting down everyone in her family. She made quite a few almost blatant references to Loras and Renly’s affair, something which everyone but his wife and Mace Tyrell understood. 

Myrcella was the only person not drinking much. Did she ever let her hair down? Maybe he should make somewhat of an effort to try to coax some fun out of her. Not drinking necessarily some other activity which he would have to think of at a later date when he wasn’t drunk. 

“I fear I have to excuse myself,” Renly said, having been a bit quiet for most of the evening. Most of the attendees had been actually. Mostly it was Mace Tyrell gesturing wildly with his cup and talking about a stream of nonsense and his mother making rude comments Robb had to try really hard not to snicker at. “Tonight has been wonderful Lord Tyrell thank you very much for inviting me.”

Robb checked quickly to see if Margaery was leaving with him but she made no indication she had any intent of going with. Everyone shifted around on the bench as Loras left too.

“You are most welcome, most welcome,” Mace boomed. He talked loudly anyway but with several cups of wine in him he was almost shouting. He stood wobbling on his feet his belly knocking a jug which his far more refined, elegant looking wife snatched at to steady. For the hundredth time of the night he bit down on his own tongue and rocked his jaw side to side to stop himself laughing. Why had he been dreading this? It was fine. Better than sitting in his solar with Myrcella failing to think up something to say.

He actually wanted to stay. Robb had thought that this would be a gruelling evening of forced conversation and awkward silences. He almost squeaked like a woman when he felt something rubbing against his knee. It took him a second to realize it was Margaery’s foot. He looked up at her. She was drinking from her goblet, she had it to her mouth, half of it obscuring her face except her eyes which were flickering with mischief. The gap left by Loras and Renly and the reshuffle which let her reach under the stone table Margaery was utilizing. 

Her foot rubbed his inner shin and back up to his knee. Robb breathed in and out a few times. Telling himself not to give any sign of what was happening. He remembered when he had been invited to this dinner which Mace was now threatening, or offering depending on one’s perspective, to make a regular occurrence, Margaery had mouthed ‘balcony.’ The balcony he had visited in the middle of the night. 

Myrcella had barely spoken unless directly spoken to. He had meant to try some form of bonding but this wasn’t the place. Maybe offer to sword train with Tommen… The forgotten prince. That was something that could be put off for a while until… Well until Margaery Tyrell, the person he obsessed about most of his waking hours, wasn’t touching him. He remembered the balcony, kissing her, holding her, her hands running over his body. Myrcella snapped him out of his daydream by lightly and briefly touching his hand. He looked down and saw he had white knuckles from squeezing the stem of his wine glass so hard. Letting go the color returned to his finger and his wife’s hand retracted. 

Margaery laughed quietly, that soft musical note floating up into the cool night breeze. As the final dessert came Robb was so distracted by Margaery’s secret touch under the table he couldn’t focus properly on the conversation and just hoped that his ‘yes’s,’ and ‘uh-huhs,’ were placed at the right time. Mace Tyrell just wanted to hear himself pontificate. He needed her to stop, not because he wanted her to, in fact he had shifted his legs so she was able reach more of him. However as he moved so her foot had come rub the bottom of his thigh he was getting hard and didn’t want to stand up. 

Focus on something else he told himself. Perhaps cyvasse. 

“I thank you for dinner my lord, but I think it is time we retire,” Myrcella broke his concentration. 

“Oh must you leave so soon!” Mace boomed.

“Oh let the kids go Mace, they politely sat through your nonsense without one scoff.”

“Mother! Anyway thank you for putting up with her,” Mace motioned with his head at his the matriarch. “We should do this more often. A harmonious relationship between our houses leads to a harmonious realm and capitol!”

“What a pretentious way of justifying getting drunk and overeating,” Olenna scoffed herself. 

“Mother…”

“Yes all of the pomp aside this has been a rather nice evening, I would hope to do it again, perhaps not every week Mace, these poor children have lives to live.”

“Thank you for your kind invitation my lord,” Robb said, “my ladies, thank you,” he turned to bow his head in thanks for the night to Olenna, Alerie and then Margaery who smiled a cheeky grin inclining her own head as he foot tore back quickly against his inner thigh and she sat there innocently. 

Myrcella stood and curtseyed, instead of standing Robb slid over the bench adjusting the hem of his tunic so he wouldn’t be embarrassed. Walking stiffly away he swore he heard Margaery giggle. Had she known she would have that effect? She just liked to flirt surely? He linked his arm with his wife and left the garden. 

“That was pleasant enough,” he said.

“It was.”

“Right… Any other opinions on the evening?” He tried.

“I rather liked Olenna, she was funny.”

“You didn’t laugh or anything.”

“No, that would be improper but I still enjoyed some of her barbs.” That was interesting she was expressing some sort of opinion past ‘nice.’ “Though I hope no one had their feelings hurt.” Oh there she was. “Are you ok my lord?”

“Yes why?”

“You’re walking a bit oddly.”

“Oh, no… I mean yes, I’m a bit stiff… No not that, sore from training. Do you think Tommen would like to practice with me and the men?” He asked, deploying his ace in the hole earlier than he wished to divert from his state of arousal hampering with his ability to walk normally. 

“Oh yes!” Myrcella beamed up at him, “what a considerate offer my lord, I feel for my brother, he gets left out a lot.”

“That’s why I thought to offer training.”

Nothing more was said, they walked through the corridors and halls of the Red Keep back to their solar and Robb found himself able to walk easier. His mind was elsewhere. Obviously. It had been bold… audacious even, behavior from Margaery. With her family there. Did they know? Or more accurately did her grandmother know of the kiss they had shared? She clearly knew about Renly and Loras’ relationship making obtuse references to it. Did it matter then if she did? So many questions. None of which he really cared about.

Letting in his wife first he turned to bolt the lock of their solar. Myrcella was going around the room which servants had clearly been in to light the candles and clean up what little mess he’d made, compared to the zero mess left by his wife. She was busy putting out nearly every candle as Robb pulled off his boots and started fiddling with the leather toggles of his tunic. He tossed his shirt over the side of the bed. 

“What are you doing?” He asked Myrcella as she was choosing which lights to extinguish as the room was already very lowly lit and hard to see.

“Taking all the lights down,” she responded with what was almost bordering on sarcasm. “I thought…” Myrcella trailed off and even in the low orange light he thought he could make out the hint of a blush spreading over her cheeks. “I thought we would lie together. Unless you don’t want to my lord,” she added with her back turned to him before scampering behind the screen she used to clothe and undress behind. 

“Of course,” he replied softly. He removed his trousers and went to lie in the bed naked under the sheets. Thinking it was bit too aggressive to just lie there bare. As Myrcella came from behind the screen, not naked herself, but in a thin shift, she moved to the last of the candles. “Leave some light princess. If you are ok with that?” Robb added tentatively.

Myrcella paused, hovering by the candle still unsure whether or not to darken the room completely. She left one flickering as she came over to her side of the bed and slid under the sheets and lay next to him on her back as if they were going to sleep. Even though she had brought up the idea she didn’t seem to want to initiate anything. Which was what Robb really wanted from her. Just like Margaery had when they kissed, she roamed all over his body and at dinner that very night stroking at him.

Waiting a few beats to see if she moved Robb rolled onto his side and wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her towards him so she rolled onto her side and they were face to face. She bit lightly on her small, delicate lips glancing down before back up and leaning into him kissing him back.. Robb began pulling up her shift in a bunch, raising it up her hips and then stomach, she participated by propping herself up on her elbow allowing him fully undress her.

He never saw her bare, never, she had always insisted on all the candles being snuffed out. Her  
body was perfect, it was what he had imagined a woman should look in his dreaming mind’s eye. Robb pulled her close so their bodies were pressed together, her breasts tight against his chest, it was exciting and he was stiffening against her body. Her hand had come to rest on the muscle of his back. 

Pushing his hand in between the press of their bodies he ran down her stomach and hips to her centre, she was wet to the touch. Getting the angle he pushed a finger through her folds, down and up curling his fingertip in the motion. She whimpered into his mouth at first but as his hand built up a rhythm she broke the kiss to let out a staggering breath. Myrcella began to roll onto her back giving him more room and push deeper and faster inside her. Her breathing was ragged and hard as he rolled with her so he was lying on top of her, using his knees to push her legs further apart and withdrawing his hand. 

Holding her hips Robb pushed himself inside her, and Myrcella’s hands rested on his shoulders and he leaned over her as he built up the rhythm again. One hand he used to prop himself up on the mattress the other on top of her shoulder getting her body to move in the same tempo. The last candle went out. Robb was building up close to the end, he reached down to grasp her breasts and squeezing and playing with them as finished and instead of pulling out straight away he lowered himself down to kiss her again. She was breathing hard as was he and they kissed intermittently into between sucking in air.

 

-M-

In the cool breeze of the morning Margaery felt a bit sick. She had drunk a lot last night. A lot more than anyone but her father. She hoped Robb hadn’t gone to the balcony in the deep of night to wait for her, she had collapsed in bed after leaving the stone gazebo in the rose garden. She just couldn’t deal with her grandmother and father arguing over whether Olenna had ruined dinner by being withering. Margaery felt that her grandmother was the best thing about the evening. That and her being able to flirt physically with Robb.

She had just had a lot of wine and was in the mood to flirt. He had looked so handsome dressed up for the meal and the danger and risk of the situation just added to the desire and when she did it was exciting. Imagining what was under his trousers and the feel of the muscle of his thigh...

Renly had come back some time during the night. She had deduced this like a detective as when she went to sleep he wasn’t there and when she woke up he was. Genius. Though drinking her weight in water would be the smartest move.

***

Nothing to do. Nothing at all, if a married woman didn’t have a child there was very little on offer activity wise of an afternoon. Wandering through the Red Keep would only take up so much time. Margaery took the route to the courtyard where the Northmen or more specifically one Northman in particular was. She almost fell to the ground laughing when she reached the courtyard. Robb Stark was there, with his shirt off; not that she had been looking out for him topless but it was certainly a plus.

However the appealing sight was nothing compared to the hilarious sight which was Prince Tommen Baratheon training with him. The prince was covered in padding, he looked like an egg made out of foam. There was one of the Kingsguard who she couldn’t name standing vigil in the corner of the yard with the princess standing there. Margaery scowled at Myrcella before catching herself. That’s unfair of her. Would it be right to watch? Probably. There was nothing else to do. Though it wouldn’t be right to linger in the shadows of the corner. She went over to join the princess.

“Princess, good afternoon,” she curtseyed.

“Good afternoon my lady, thank you for dinner again it was lovely,” Myrcella smiled with a bow of her head. She was in a very good mood. She hadn’t seen the princess is such high spirits, she had never seen her depressed or anything it was usually just an ordinary level of royal composure she maintained.

“Oh yes, it was, I’m glad you enjoyed it. What’s happening here,” Margaery stood next to Myrcella and faced the men training.

“My husband is helping my brother train, it’s nice of him, a lot of men wouldn’t use a blunted training sword after moving on to bladed edges but he is.”

Looking closer the blades were clearly black not steel, that didn’t stop the fact that Tommen was coated in padding. Rocking side to side. Robb was clearly humoring him a lot, basically just knocking the blunt blades side to side as Tommen rocked. It wasn’t even training. It was play. If it made the boy prince happy then it was just being kind rather than being a tutor. 

Tommen dropped his sword and Robb took a couple of steps back letting the prince bend to pick it up. He fell reaching for it and Margaery had to cough loudly to hide the laugh that naturally burst out. The coughing had to continue as like a tortoise knocked on its back, the padding made it impossible for Tommen to right himself. Jiggling side to side trying to build up momentum enough to clamber to his feet. 

“What is the meaning of this!” A nasty, shrill voice cut through the quiet of the training yard. The intimidating figure of the Queen; Cersei Lannister swept into the yard flanked by two more Kingsguards. “Tommen get up now!” She snapped cruelly to her son. When he failed to get up still, she nodded to one of the Kingsguard to rush forward and grip his arm yanking the prince back up in one swift pull. “Now Stark! I want you to explain yourself!” 

“I was helping the prince train your grace,” Robb replied. He looked confused.

“Mother,” Myrcella rushed off from Margaery’s side and her Kingsguard followed her leaving Margaery alone, isolated, in the corner of the yard. “I asked my husband to help Tommen wit…”

“Shut up,” Cersei hissed through gritted teeth. “You!” She jabbed a finger at Robb, “you’re lucky you’re married to my daughter or I’d have you flayed for this! If you injured a prince of the realm…” She trailed off to look at Tommen. “Get him out those ridiculous… Whatever they are.” Tommen was yanked by arm and taken away. 

“Mothe…”

“Be silent,” Cersei rounded on Myrcella who shrank back from her furious mother bowing her head in submission. “Wait until the King hears about this!” She threatened Robb who looked bamboozled by the situation. “Come.” She ordered her daughter and the blonde haired royal family walked off. The princess having to jog to keep up with her mother’s stride. 

Robb tossed his sword aside and shook his head. Looking up at her he smiled and made his way over to her. 

“That was… Interesting,” he said. 

“The joys of a royal match,” Margaery commented dryly. “Nice of you to train the lad.”

“Yeah I only did it to distract Myrcella.”

“Why?”

“Because she was asking why I was being funny after that dinner.”

“Why were you?” She asked with mock innocence and a flash of a smile. He just grumbled and walked over to the edge of the yard and hopped up on the railings which separated the inner and outer ring of the courtyard. Margaery walked over next to him and snatched the shirt from his hand before he could put it back on and placed it over the stone to sit on. 

“Really?”

“I don’t want to dirty my dress,” she scowled at him pretending he had asked a stupid question. 

“You think its acceptable to thief my clothes to use as a cushion?”

“Well clearly, otherwise I wouldn’t have,” she retorted again as if he were being an idiot. He guffawed as she had intended. “You didn’t go to the balcony last night did you?”

“No… Sorry.”

“Oh don’t worry I went to sleep. I drank a lot last night. I thought the dinner was going to be gruelling.”

“Same and same again, it was fun though, your grandmother maybe the greatest woman I’ve ever met.”

“She is. I’m bored,” she announced letting her legs flail over the side of the railing kicking them back and forth in time. 

“You want me to entertain you? You must be desperate.”

“That’s very arrogant and presumptive of you.”

“Well you came here and now hanging around.”

“Still.”

“You can’t just say… oh whatever.”

“You’re so easy to tease, and to think that my grandmother has to work so hard to think up clever things to get under people’s skin, I might just be a natural,” Margaery mock bragged. Robb huffed. She elbowed him in his ribs, in the hard muscle between his ribs and his hip. “Cheer up Stark,” she ordered trying to sound like the Queen. 

 

-R-

Myrcella hadn’t returned to their solar all afternoon, as the evening crept on she still didn’t come back. This had happened a few times, when she had returned home for the night. Just for most people home was miles and miles from King’s Landing. Not several hundred yards away in slightly fancier but ultimately similar rooms. He was bored now. The afternoon had been rather pleasant. He had spoken with Margaery, she had tried to wind him up and the sight of Tommen’s training attire would amuse him for months to come. 

His interaction with the Queen, his fucking good-mother, was just as lovely as it had always been. She was a nasty woman. If he hadn’t met Joffrey then he wouldn’t have believed Tommen and Myrcella could be her children. She had clearly put all her effort into her eldest. Who had taken all of his mother’s charm. Becoming the world’s biggest cunt. It had been fun training with Tommen in all his ludicrous wrappings, so her reaction hadn’t been reasonable. Though definitely in character.

Margaery’s parting words she they split up for dinner was to mouth the word ‘balcony,’ again at him. He was tempted to go out and see if she was there. Maybe he was just convincing himself that is out of interest that he wanted to talk to her with the knowledge that no eyes were prying. In truth he knew this wasn’t true. It was just easier to lie to himself.

When it was definitely past midnight and he eaten enough olives and picked a hole in a loaf of bread, then failed to read something he needed to relieve himself. Again he recognized it was probably just justification but decided to find one of the public privies outside of his solar. Then maybe he would have a stroll. Just to stretch his legs… And all that.

 

-M- 

Renly had been in their solar in the evening. Preparing himself with perfume and shaving his chest, which she had never heard of a man doing. He left with some mumbled and polite farewell and then he was gone for the evening. 

She had been laughing to herself all day remembering seeing the prince of the Seven Kingdoms rolling around the floor looking like a walking pillow. She had mouthed the word ‘balcony,’ to Robb again. Though stupidly, again, no time. Just ‘balcony.’ After the dinner with her family, and her flirting with him. With their conversation during the day, seeing his muscle taut as he trained and the fact she bored again being left alone told her to go out. At least for a walk. With the mad hope that he might be there.

Walking down the empty halls at night the castle was eerie, as if she were an intruder. She had to walk faster to escape the feeling of being an outsider and as if someone were coming behind her. She stumbled into the balcony in question, it not being that far from her solar. Up in the nicer part of the Red Keep. She skidded to slow down as her heart fluttered and her stomach knotted as she saw the back of Robb Stark standing on the edge of the balcony leaning on the rail.

“You must be a deeply boring man,” she said to him as he turned. He went from forming a smile of greeting to developing a frown. “Hanging around on window ledges when you could be doing anything else,” she told him walking next to him lean on the railing and look out on the city. 

“You must a very boring woman to do the same,” he retorted.

“Still.”

“You can’t…” He trailed out and leaned down next to her on the railing. “Renly out again?”

“I think a better question would be is Renly around? Because him being out is just the norm,” she said sarcastically. She drummed her fingers against the stone of the railing, reaching out with her little finger to loop around his index finger and drag it slightly towards her. Leaving their fingers linked just resting there. “But yes.”

“Hmmm, it’s a wonder no one knows.”

“People only see what they want. A lot of people know but not the ones who care. The ones who care about such a relationship are blind to it and kept blind to it.”

“I suppose so.”

“Let’s not talk about Renly and Loras. You know I came here one night? Couldn’t sleep and just came out here on the off chance you’d be here.”

“Really?” Robb laughed. “I did the same. We must have just missed each other.”

“Ships in the night?” Margaery suggested as she looked out on Blackwater Bay.

“Yeah… Ships in the night.”

“You’re not injured or anything are you?”

“Why? No…”

“It was just when you walked away from dinner the other night you were walking a bit funny,” she said sickly sweet. “No problems?”

“No,” he coughed. She had to laugh. “No I was…” She stopped him, tired of this, knowing the reason that she had come her let go of his index finger with her little finger and pushing his shoulder so he turned around and had his back to the railing. “What are yo…” He tried to speak but she cut him off pouncing on him. Kissing him hard. Her hand gripping his side with one hand and balling the other in the top of his tunic and pulling Robb to lean down to her height.

She forced his lips open with her tongue and found his to massage and caress his. Playing and wrestling against his tongue as he grabbed her lower back. His hand close to the top of her arse, she willed him to grab her.

Letting her hands roam over him, she finally broke the kiss. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a while,” she whispered to herself. He was just looking at her, breathing a little hard. They stood there, their hands on each other, holding each other for a moment. A charged moment before he let go of a low rumble in his throat before spinning her around and pressing her against the railing and kissing her forcefully again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside:
> 
> Beric: I'm the dandy highwayman who you're too scared to mention, I spend my cash on looking flash and grabbing your attention!
> 
> Thoros: Are you the dandy highwayman?
> 
> Beric: I'm the...
> 
> Thoros: No listen are you the dandy highwayman?
> 
> Beric: No I'm the normally dressed normal man.
> 
> Thoros: I'm not too scared to mention you at all... What do you spend your cash on?
> 
> Beric: Basic provisions.
> 
> Thoros: There we go then.


	6. -6-

-M-

Anyone could have walked past without her noticing. It didn’t matter in the moment. She had what she wanted. Robb Stark, his hands gripping her tightly on her bare shoulder, exposed through the back of her dress. Margaery tied her hands up in the curls of his auburn hair, pulling almost painfully at it. They had been kissing for ages, but not long enough for her, she let her free hand not entwined in his hair roam over his body. Pushing up hem of his tunic and touch his cool, bare, hard flesh of his side, digging her fingernails into the skin. Feeling him, his body.

Margaery dragged her fingernails down his side making red welts and he emitted a low growl from the base of his throat. She smirked against his lips not breaking the kiss as he went to pull back she used her grip on his curly locks to force him back against her. 

She could feel him excited against her where their bodies were pressed. It was the first time she had felt a man like that, just through her clothing and his clothing. Pathetic for a woman married for weeks. Having that effect on him was thrilling, knowing he wanted her like that. There was a tension and knot churning in the pit of her stomach and her skin was tingling, not from the sea breeze. Margaery tried to touch and feel as much of his body as she could reach in their tight embrace. Touching the individual partings of his abdominals and his chest.

“That was nice,” she said as they finally broke apart, panting each lightly, still holding each other and face to face. He just snorted and chuckled.

“Nice?”

“Alright, it was fine,” Margaery tried to tease him. It was difficult to focus on teasing him as they stared into each other's eyes, breathing heavily, she could feel the heat of his breath against her face. “Gods,” she sighed frustrated. “If only we could drag a bed out here and some heavily bolted door. 

“That’s pretty forward,” Robb smiled at her as finally they separated from each other’s hold and walked over to the railing and leaned down against it looking out to the city and catching his breath. 

“After having my tongue in your mouth that isn’t forward?” She asked taking on her mock innocence as she went to the arch leading back to the corridor of the Red Keep and looking left to right down the hall. No one. Of course there wasn’t. He had started spluttering at her comment. Leaning on the balcony beside him she sighed into the cold night air. Well cold for King’s Landing. Debating what to do… would it be right for her to invite him back her chamber and tear off his clothes. 

That actually made her a bit nervous. It would be her first time lying with a man if she did so. She had to prepare herself mentally for it on the night of her wedding only for it to all to lead to naught. Renly wouldn’t be touching her any time soon, if ever. She wanted Robb, she really did. Just not in some rushed, quick affair, worrying the door might fling open at any moment revealing their trist. That would be too squalid and lowly for what she had imagined and thought about when she fantasized about being with Robb Stark. 

No. Tonight was not the night. 

“Whatchya thinking?” Margaery asked, nudging him. 

“Nothing. My mind is blank,” he chuckled. “I can’t think straight… I think I’m seeing stars.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” he nodded in agreement even though she had said it flippantly. Turning his body to look at her. “You’re… What is it about you?” He asked in a hushed whisper, barely audible over the sea breeze. His gaze was intense and deep, it made her shudder and tremble internally. The internal shudder became external as Robb lightly ran the back of his hand down the side of her cheek and pushed some of her loose hair, which she had undone for bed, back from her face.

Margaery tried to think of some playfully and witty retort to dispel the gravity of the situation but now it was her mind which was ablank. Unable to think of any reply she gave into her instinct and leaned into kiss Robb again. This time though not passionate and frenzied. It was sweet and tender. Their lips coming together and delicately finding each other. Their hands just resting on each other. His on her hips. Her’s on his shoulders. 

 

-R-

His wife hadn’t returned by the morning. Not that he wanted to see her right now. It would feel wrong. He had never kissed a woman, not that he had kissed many, three, but never kissed a woman like that. Like that twice. With the passionate and fire and then with the care and desire. 

He hadn’t been able to sleep much. His mind too activity. The guilt wasn’t so bad with his wife absent. Still there but playing second to glowing feeling which took precedent. Margaery had joked about having a bed out there on the balcony. He wasn’t sure that was right. He didn’t know if she had asked him to return to her chambers with her if he would have… He really didn’t. Maybe he would have maybe he wouldn’t. 

Since it hadn’t happened it was best not to add extra guilt to himself. Best to feel shitty about what had happened rather than hypotheticals. 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he walked he to the council meeting. A meeting which he would be in trouble for missing and yet contributed absolutely nothing at all to. He took his seat at the end of the table Robb poured himself some water and braced himself for this painful waste of time. Most of his other attendees jockeyed for position, the closer to the Lord Hand the better. He was the exact opposite. Mace Tyrell patted him on the shoulder in a slightly overfamiliar manner as he entered and proved Robb’s point sitting the closest to Jon Arryn he could. Stannis was opposite him on the Lord of the Vale’s right hand and shot a nasty look towards to the man opposite him. 

“Right let’s begin,” Lord Arryn clapped his hands together. “So the crown prince is returning to the city after his visit to his grandfather.” Oh bollocks, Robb had forgotten about the little shit. Also visit to his grandfather? It was meant to be a visit of his wardens. He didn’t even bother taking the short trip to visit Robb’s grandfather at Riverrun. “This will be coincide with his name day, so the King and Queen feel it would be appropriate for a feast and some competition.”

“Some competition?” Lord Stannis repeated skeptically. “What sort of competition? Will my nephew be competing? Or just watching?”

“Well watching.”

“Obviously he will be,” Stannis said disdainfully. That was interesting Robb thought, he hadn’t considered the relationship between Stannis and Joffrey. Though it made sense he, a grim, serious man and famed general, would disapprove of a spoilt little cunt like Joffrey Baratheon. Though really he was more Joffrey Lannister, it was just in name that the prince was a Baratheon. 

“I think anything our beloved prince desires is be procured,” Pycelle said in his tired long winded manner. Of course he believed that. The man was a Lannister sycophant. “In fact if possible we should try to make whatever the prince wishes even grander as a birthday gift.”

“No we shouldn't,” Stannis dismissed the man instantly. Robb had to take a false swig of water to hold the cup to his lips so that he could laugh into it without anyone noticing. “So go on Jon what does my nephew want?”

“Aegon’s courtyard to be used for fighting while feasting tables can be set up around it and he can dine and look down on the… The competition,” the hand read from a scroll. Had the prince sent ahead his desires by raven? What a prick.

“Fine,” Stannis spat. “Let’s not waste anymore time on this nonsense, what else proper is on the itinerary?”

***

“Robb,” Mace tugged at his sleeve as Robb tried to leave the worst part of his life behind him for another week. “May I have a word?”

“Certainly my lord.”

“Please, please call me Mace.”

Robb definitely wouldn’t. 

“Anyway Robb, I just wanted to apologize for my mother, she forgets her manners in her old age.”

“Oh it’s no worry, she was rather amusing.”

“She can be if you don’t take her seriously.”

“I didn’t.”

“Good, good, well we should have another meal soon if you would ask your wife if some of her family, her brothers, her father or mother if they would also like to dine with us?” He asked. Mace was trying to sound casual, but he didn’t, he sounded eager and excited at the possibility. So he just wanted to use Robb to network and gain favor through his connections. It was actually funny that Mace Tyrell was so disconnected that he thought Robb could get Cersei Lannister to attend a meal. 

“I will do my lord,” he said biting back the smirk. As if that would do any good. Yet it seemed to make Mace happy as he wobbled off very pleased with himself. Their roles were reversed there. He was the adult placating the child. 

***

It wasn’t until the next morning after breakfast when Myrcella returned to their solar. She looked troubled.

“Princess?” He tried tentatively. 

“My lord,” she nodded to him grimly but otherwise ignored him. 

“Did you enjoy your time with your mother.”

“I did.”

Normally she was hardly the most talkative person in the capitol but this was something new. She was different. What had happened? Though in all fairness he would be in a bad mood after two minutes with Cersei Lannister. Let alone a couple of nights. 

 

-M-

“So what is your nephew like?” She asked her husband trying to find something to talk about. The city was abuzz with the return of the crown prince. She had heard one of two things. Either that he was a royal prince worthy of all praise and a lion and a stag and magnificent, said in stiff formal tones which sounded insincere. Or that he had a nasty reputation.

Though to be fair that second opinion she had only heard from her grandmother. 

“Vile,” Renly said his lip curling at the thought. “He really is. Robert spends too much time with his whores and his booze to have bothered raising the boy. Cersei indulges his every whim.”

“So… His birthday will be…”

“Violent one suspects. He enjoys people dying. Erm… I think that might be it. Oh bullying, he enjoys bullying as well.”

“He sounds delightful.”

“Precisely. Imagine Cersei Lannister with no restraint and a male desire for blood.”

“I’ve barely spoken two words to the Queen.”

“Lucky you. Just take the next couple days of Joffrey free King’s Landing and enjoy them. He will be swanning around the Red Keep with his dog spreading misery wherever he goes,” Renly said ominously. He was a drama queen, so if Margaery took what he said with a large pinch of salt that still painted a rather unpleasant picture of his nephew. “Oh! Here’s a good tip, try to keep Robert’s company, Joffrey becomes the coward he truly is when he’s around his father.”

“He has a dog?” 

“No,” Renly laughed as if she were an idiot. “No, no, no,” he continued patronizingly. “His dog is Sandor Clegane; the Hound they call him.” The name vaguely rang a bell. “The brute follows him around and roughs up anyone who he thinks may have given him a look. Or just anyone he feels like.”

“I’ll give him a wide berth.”

“Do that. Right I’m off, I have things to do.”

“Like my brother.”

Renly went a pink in his cheeks and pursed his lips.

“I’m meeting him yes. Anyway I shall see you later,” he didn’t look at her as he hurried from their chamber. 

***

“Yes he sounds like a terror,” Olenna Redwyne agreed after Margaery reported back what Renly had said. “Even taking your husband’s showmanship out of the equation. I have had some of my friends and allies here in the castle rely similar messages.”

“So what to do?” Margaery asked. She enjoyed the time she got with just her and her grandmother in the gardens. It reminded her of Highgarden and simpler more innocent times. 

“Smile, be polite, act like a ditzy highborn lady who has no knowledge of anything other her duty to spread her legs for her husband and then again to let the sprats drop out,” her grandmother rather pointedly told her. “Well like most girls husbands. He’ll leave you alone.”

“I suppose so. Renly said just keep in the King’s company.”

“Yes I imagine that would be true, bullies are cowards and Robert might be a big, fat, drunken, womanizing fool but the man is no coward.”

“If we barely see the Queen, or King then I doubt we’ll have to deal with him that much.”

“Then don’t worry so much. He’s unlikely to start having people flayed at his birthday dinner. Anyway,” Olenna turned her fixating gaze on Margaery. “Any progress with Renly?”

“Progress how?”

“You know how I mean.”

“Well no.”

“Maybe you could ask Loras to borrow his armor? Though it would probably be too narrow around the hips.”

Margaery had to laugh at that. 

“The thing is as well,” Olenna carried on. “Cersei has no reason to dislike our family that much, she doesn’t obviously because she doesn’t like anyone. Just there hasn’t been that much bad blood between the Tyrells and the Lannisters. The Gardeners and the Lannister maybe but not the Tyrells.”

“That seems fine then,” Margaery said sarcastically.

“Best of a bad situation. I feel for the poor Stark lad, the Lannisters hate the Starks, the amount of poison which our lovely Queen must have poured into her daughter’s ear about her husband. The only thing worse would be if the princess married a Martell. Though that would never happen in a million years.”

“Why the Starks in particular?”

“Come on girl think. Don’t be like your father, think.”

Margaery racked her brain. The rebellion… Stark, Baratheon and Arryn fighting for the throne… The Lannisters sacked King’s Landing. Her father and Lord Redwyne had a break in the Stormlands. Was it the murders of the Targaryen babes? The Kingslayer earning that nickname? The honor of Eddard Stark would probably have been irked by the murder of children and rape of the Queen. Lyanna! That was it. Robert wanted to marry the Warden of the North’s dead sister not Cersei. 

“Lyanna?” 

“Smart girl. Good to see you have inherited some wits. It would seem they may pass a generation. What you may not know is Lord Eddard wanted Jaime Lannister sent to the wall and there to be some serious repercussions against Lord Tywin for the murder of children. It caused a rift between Stark and Baratheon for a time.”

“Right… So what should we get Joffrey for his name day?” She asked sweetly changing the direction of the conversation.

“A necklace of sparrow heads?”

“Might require a bit more thought but a good building block to work off of.”

It was her grandmother’s turn to chuckle at her jape.

 

-R-

This was getting painful. Day after day passed of him and Myrcella barely exchanging words. They sat in silence in their solar. While she read and he… Well sat. None of his family were big readers so he hadn’t got in the habit. 

“Have you thought what we should get your brother for his name day?” He tried to make light conversation. Myrcella looked up at him and he was sure he saw the hint of a scowl there. 

“No.”

“Right. Should we?”

“I’m sure whatever you think of will be most appropriate my lord.”

“Ok then.”

Well that went nowhere. Robb had essentially spent no money since arriving at the capitol. The benefit of being a highlord everything was paid for. It seemed the richer you were the less money you needed to spend. Which was nice. So now he had to go and get something for someone he hated. Another pain. The thought of making his first big expenditure on Joffrey really pissed him off.

He could have just married Alys Karstark and stayed in the North not had to buy anyone anything. 

“I’m going to see my mother,” Myrcella announced and swept out of the room without anything more said. That was a bit rude. She had been really off. Had he done something? Oh. Well yes he had done something. Just nothing she knew he had done. So there was actually no reason, as far as she knew, to be angry with him. Cersei Lannister might have said something unpleasant about him. Might have. Did. Definitely did. She had been rather happy up to the point when the Queen dragged her away after he tried training Tommen. 

After pacing around a bit then punching a wall in anger, a decision he regretted immediately as his knuckles and wrist began to throb, Robb decided he might as well head into the city and get his good-brother something.

If he was more devious he would be able to think of some clever gift which was actually a masked insult. Like a… Well he wasn’t devious enough to think of such a gift otherwise he would buy one.

Walking through the Red Keep Robb slowed down and considered knocking on the door of Renly and Margaery’s solar and seeing if she would accompany him into the city to help advise him on what sort of thing Joffrey would want. The thought made him a bit sick. Perhaps a sword then challenge him to a sparring session and clatter his head around. That would make his life a lot harder but at least he would have that memory lingering pleasantly in his mind forever as comfort.

“Lord Stark.”

Jumping in surprise Robb had been lost in his own head. He saw Lord Renly and Margaery walking toward their solar. 

“Lord Renly, Lady Margaery,” Robb bowed his head in greeting to them both as they paused in the hallway. 

“Where are you off to Stark?” Renly asked. He was always nice enough to Robb. They would never best of friends, or even exchange anything more than pleasantries, but it was cordial between them. 

“Buying your nephew a gift,” he said through gritted teeth. Renly barked a loud laugh which reverberated through the corridor and patted Robb on the shoulder.

“Best of luck with that Stark, he won’t be happy with anything… Though he would be very unhappy with nothing.”

“Perhaps I could get him… Fuck,” he mumbled, “no idea.”

“I’m just going to give him some Stag pendant or some such thing, its easy for me, I have chests full of stuff emblazoned with my sigil. I don’t think a direwolf would suffice.”

“No I didn’t think it would. Some wine?” Robb tried, fishing for ideas. 

“Certainly not, the royal cellar has more wine than anyone could ever need for free, well not free, but free as far as Joffrey is concerned. Robert has made sure of that.”

“Right… I have no ideas then. I was just going to wander around the Street of Steel and look for something.”

“I wish you luck Stark.”

“I could help you if you like?” Margaery offered speaking for the first time since they ran into each other. “A woman’s eye might aid you well enough.”

“If that would be ok with you my lord, that I might borrow your wife for an afternoon?” Robb asked trying very hard not to sound suspicious. 

“Huh? Yeah of course,” Renly replied as if it were stupid question. Why would he care after all. “I have things to do this afternoon. I’ll see at council then Stark and you later my lady.”

“Bye.”

“Farewell.”

Renly walked off and into their solar closing the door. 

“So? Shopping? I thought you were masculine,” Margaery teased him.

“So did I… Life in the capitol wears you down I suppose. Do you want a litter or something?”

“No… I’m not lazy, or fat, or old.”

“Good point,” Robb said offering his arm for her to take and they walked from the Keep.

***

“Maybe a litter was a good idea,” Margaery told him as they arrived at the Street of Steel. “It was a lot further than I thought.”

“I’m not lazy, or fat, or old,” Robb repeated trying to mimic her voice. 

“Mockery is the lowest form of humor.”

“You mock me incessantly.”

“Still.”

He bit back a smirk and looked around at the blacksmiths. This seemed like the best place to find a gift for a prince. Putting aside who that prince was for a moment. Some sort of armor or weapon with a stag on it. Like a dirk with a stag for a pommel. A mace where the mace’s head was a stag’s head… Which would look stupid and pompous and never be useful in combat. Though Joffrey was all of those things and would never be in combat.

Margaery didn’t look out of place in the streets. Myrcella did. When she had been out, once, about five hundred yards from the Red Keep, she looked like she didn’t belong outside of the castle. The backdrop didn’t suit her. Whereas Margaery looked natural, sweeping between stalls inspecting what wares were on sale. She attracted a lot of looks from the people around. Though Robb had chosen the Street of Steel for a reason. The blacksmiths serviced Knights and Lords alike. So they wouldn’t be completely alien there.

“Any ideas?” She asked him with a hum as she glided over to him after looking at some jewellery. 

“If anything this had made it harder. The choice doesn’t help… Actually wait a moment aren’t you here to help?” 

“That was a just clever ruse I deployed to get out of the Red Keep,” she smirked at him her eyes twinkling with mischief. “My gift is already sorted out.”

Robb grumbled to himself sullenly. Right the prince is a royal prick who cares more about his appearance than anything else. So… Robb picked out the grandest of all the stores. A store with double doors made from ebony and weirwood. He choose it for the reason it would be the place he personally would least like to patronize, concluded that Joffrey would most likely patronize. 

Pushing open the door he was greeted by a smell which dragged him back to Winterfell and Mikken’s forge. The smell of smelted iron and steel. There were many pieces of armor and weapons out on display with a narrow alley to a stone barn at the rear of the store where the forge was pumping out sparks and black smoke. 

“This must be lovely for you,” Margaery commented as they waited for service. “Look lots of shiny metal things that can hurt other boys with. Look, a sword!” She drawled.

“It’s brilliant, perhaps after we leave here we can find a store which is full of… Full of… Oh shit,” he muttered coming up with nothing as he failed to think of an example.

“Awww.”

“Don’t… Oh whatever.”

“No need to sulk, just look at the swords again and imaging blinding someone, that’ll cheer you up,” she said patronizingly. She pretended to swing an imaginary sword making a whoosh noise. “Take that eye!” Before laughing with her musical laugh at her own mockery of him. 

“Greetings, greetings, greetings,” a bald man came from the stone barn at the back. “Welcome I am Tobho Mott, the finest armorer in Westeros. How can I serve you…” Leaving the sentence hanging asking for a name.

“Robb Stark, this is Margaery Tyrell,” Robb pointed to his companion who was inspecting a shield. 

“Lord Stark, an honor to have you here, and you my lady, what can I assist you with?” 

“I am looking for a gift for the crown Prince’s name day.”

“Well you have come to the right place, I am the only armorer in King’s Landing who can infuse color with the steel without the use of paint which will chip and wear with use.”

Like whatever Robb decided on would ever be used. Maybe to stab a puppy in the face.

“I think I would like a dirk or perhaps… No a dirk, with a stag’s head on the pommel,” Robb said. That would do.

“Certainly my Lord Stark, would you like me to tint the steel with a red and gold coloring to match the joint stag and lion of the royal sigil?” Tobho Mott asked him. The man spoke with a certain grandeur but was not dislikable. 

“Why not,” Robb replied apathetically. 

“Would you like to see the forge my lord?”

“I would actually.”

It was nice to see the simple work of a forge in action. The lad working the steel was quiet and looked at him with a dark scowl. Margaery lingered in the store avoiding the heat and soot of the forge.

***

“So that was fun wasn’t it?” She asked as they walked down Visenya’s Hill to the River Row where they had previously walked a few days previous.

“You were no help at all. I would have done that anyway.”

“I think if I weren’t there you might have succumbed to his sales pitch and got a direwolf helm which could frighten children.”

“A direwolf is better than a rose.”

“If you say so. Though you can pick a rose and hold it and have it not savage you and eat your throat and everything.”

“Growing strong as well is a terrible slogan.”

“I didn’t choose it. Also Winter is Coming is hardly better. It’s inevitable. It would be like your words being ‘hunger will come if you haven’t eaten for a while.’ ‘Night will come then morning after that.”

“Better than growing strong,” Robb repeated a little less enthusiastically. 

“Anyway on something a little less boring, Prince Joffrey, everyone hates him I’d gathered.”

“Very astute of you.”

“It is yes, I haven’t heard much good.”

“No, he’s pretty nasty, and selfish. Though he can fool people rather well. He looks the part and can be charming and regal when needed. Though the mask slips now and again and the nastiness is revealed.”

“It’s terrible to admit, but I’m rather looking forward to seeing this prince.”

 

-M-

A dark, grey cloud had formed over the castle. Everyone was awaiting the return of Prince Joffrey Baratheon. It was exciting yet worrying. The air had been sucked out of the place like right before a plunge. Like the eve of a battle she imagined. Renly didn’t seem to care that much. Though he had been around for the entirety of the prince’s life. 

He returned the day before his name day and the Red Keep had been in a fever pitch. Servants were rushing around and preparing the site of his feast. There were huge banners of the royal sigil fluttering everywhere. Castes of wine were stacked up and hunters had been bringing in deer and boar from the kingswood. Far more than would possibly been eaten. 

She was happy to find the balcony. Not that one. Which was over the courtyard which in turned looked over another courtyard where the tables were being brought forth and set up. She worked out that the tables would overlook the inner, ground level yard where the entertainment would be. 

There was a commotion behind her, down the corridors. She turned around to see what it was. Unable to see anyone yet who wasn’t a servant Margaery could hear the clattering of metal clad feet pacing the corridors. A tall, handsome, blonde boy rounded the corner flanked by two Kingsguard and a man… Seven hells. A disfigured giant. The hound that must be…

Her heart starting beating faster as if she were in danger. The dark reputation proceeded him.

“Who are you?” He asked her as they reached the balcony. Despite being handsome there was something deeply unattractive in his face, in his eyes, there was a malice behind his blue eyes and a cruelty to his face. 

“Margaery Tyrell.”

“Do you know who I am?”

She almost said ‘my nephew.’ But bit her tongue. “Prince Joffrey?”

“Yes, so address me as such.”

“Sorry my prince.”

“Hmm, leave now, I’ve come to inspect to my feasting place.”

“Yes my prince,” she curtseyed and scampered off. Her heart was racing. He was terrifying. Not alone but with the presence of horrible looking men who surely would commit violence willingly and easily at his whim he was. She could hear his voice commenting snarkily on everything he saw as she leaned up against a wall to take a few breathes. 

So she had been wrong about wanting to see the prince. 

***

“Don’t worry my lady you caught Joffrey alone, in front of Robert he is fine.”

Renly had told her the same before. She wasn’t that nervous or anything. Now with him heading towards the feast. There were guards and members of each house present in the capitol. Which somewhat negated whatever innate sadism the prince had. 

King Robert was already at his place at the head of the table, drinking from a huge horn because of course he was. They greeted him and took their place slightly further down the benches. Her father arrived soon after full bluster with her mother trailing behind. 

“A fine day!” Mace announced loudly to no one in particular. “You must be very proud your grace!”

“At a name day?” Robert boomed back. Hearing these two men speak to one another would leave one with a ringing in their ears. “Hardly an achievement.”

“Still should be a fine day!” Mace tried again sounding a little put out. Her grandmother was hobbling into the courtyard with her cane shaking her head at her son already. “A fine day!”

There were three long benches looking down at the sandy yard below them. The head table at which she and the King and the other lords were sitting was pretty empty. The two other tables were full. Like most events those currying for the favor she had been born into didn’t want to miss a moment. 

The tables filled. The Queen came without acknowledging her husband. Strangely she came with Tommen and Myrcella. Robb came on his own later on grasping the dirk he had commissioned. He sat next to his wife and they didn’t say a word to each other. Instead Myrcella spoke to her brother and mother. Jon Arryn came but didn’t sit. He waited.

When Joffrey arrived with his hulking bodyguard Sandor Clegane everyone cheered with varying levels of enthusiasm and the band which was situated on the opposite side of the square struck up. Jon Arryn said something to the prince then left. Lord Stannis wasn’t present either.

Wine was poured and gifts were given. Margaery and Renly walked around in front of the table to present whatever Stag babble Renly had chosen which he looked at disinterestedly and tossed aside. When Robb got up and went to present the dirk the look Joffrey gave him was one of hatred. The thanks he gave him were through tight lips and gritted teeth. 

The princess accompanied her husband to present the knife but didn’t look or speak to her husband. 

After a few courses the ‘entertainment,’ began. Two hedge knights in full plate came forth into the yard below which now resembled a pit. Looking down the table Margaery saw Joffrey smile for the first time since she had seen him as the knights started to fight. The clash of steel was loudened by the confined space in which they fought. One of them broke the other’s knee with a morning star and that was the end of that.

Several fights happened before Sandor Clegane was in the pit. Margaery glanced back to where he had stood, stupidly, as obviously he had gone down to the yard. Robert was enjoying the competition too. Watching men fight must have reminded him of better times. Whereas his son seemed to enjoy the violence. 

The man who had the poor luck to duel with the Hound was short and out of shape. He was announced as Ser Dontos. The Hound had a claymore strapped to his back but was fighting with a mace. It was like watching a dog play with its food. He knocked the shield aside and allowed the man to recover only to do the same thing again. The cheers and applause abruptly stopped when Sandor Clegane caved the man’s helm in with his mace. Ser Dontos fell to his knees and wobbled before collapsing in the sand blood leaking everywhere from his head. 

“Ha, ha, ha well struck dog! WELL STRUCK!” The prince cried leaping to his feet and clapping. The prince seemed not to be self-conscious that he alone was reveling in a man’s death. “More of that!”

Was no one going to rein him in? Obviously not as he continued cackling to himself. The fights broke for a respite as more food and wine was brought forth to enjoy. 

The corpse of Ser Dontos was dragged out rather unceremoniously leaving a bloody trail in the sand. Which was then covered in water and raked over leaving no trace of his passing. The Hound had returned to stand as a silent vigil behind the prince. 

“I’m going,” Renly said to her. “I think I’ve put up with enough of this,” he stood and strode out of the courtyard. If her husband had been sick at the sight of an eye being cut out then a death would have probably thrown him for a loop. 

“Enough this bloody pom!” Robert stood up, wobbling a bit on his feet. “More fighting come on!”

More knights came out for the one on one combat and the King got drunker. Robert got up and waddled off announcing loudly to everyone he needed a shit. He was hardly what Margaery had expected when she thought of what a King should be. 

Now unrestrained Joffrey stood up and took control of his name day feast. 

“Stark!” He called down the table.

“Yes my prince,” Robb replied looking suspicious.

“You won a melee for my Uncle’s wedding celebration tourney I hear?”

“I did my prince.”

“Well as it is my name day perhaps you would like to demonstrate your skill at arms?”

“I don’t have my armor here.”

“Surely a tournament winning swordsman wouldn’t need such excess?” Joffrey teased. Margaery could see Cersei smirking amusement. “In fact I have an opponent for you!” 

“Fine.”

Robb stood up and let his chair fall to the floor as he picked his sword belt from the floor and strapped it around his waist as he made his way to the stairwell. Had the prince planned this? As a way to ambush Robb? Did the Lannisters really hate the Starks that much? 

There was a long pause. As everyone waited Joffrey was whispering intently with his mother both very pleased with themselves. As Robb entered the yard he unsheathed his blade and gave it a few swings to warm himself up. Moments later his selected opponent stalked his way into the pit. Oh no. 

It was Ser Crakehall. 

The Knight, sworn to Casterly Rock, who was blinded by Robb in the melee. Margaery’s heart was in her throat. This was clearly planned the second the King left this was all sprung on Robb.

-R-

This wasn’t good. He was drunk and pretty full of food. He had purposefully drunk a lot as his wife was being short with him still. Joffrey was a cunt and he hated every second of the day up to now. 

Now however he was faced with a furious Ser Crakehall. Robb was wearing a thin doublet as opposed to the angry man opposite him who was in full plate armor. So he was about to die. The thought didn’t resonate. It didn’t seem real. 

“Begin!” the prince yelled from on high. 

Ser Crakehall came at him full force and Robb barely got his sword up to block the incoming overhead strike. The tremor almost knocked to the floor. The drunkenness disappeared in that moment. The gravity of the situation taking over as his blood rose. He dashed around Crakehall taking his sword in both hands. 

Right. You’re faster than him and younger than him and you beat him before he told himself. 

The blows came in thick and fast as Robb dodged and weaved side to side parrying the fury strikes as Crakehall tried to kill him over and over. The man was tiring and moving more sluggish. 

Robb snaked his sword in between Crakehall’s guard but the blade bounced off his plate. Regaining his footing he waited for the next attacks. They were lazy and easy to block or dodge. He zeroed in a chink in his opponent’s armor and faked to the left, darting to the right and stabbing at the exposed joint cutting his arm open.

Falling back again Robb waited to see if the man would admit defeat. He didn’t seem to want to.

“Fuck!” Crakehall bellowed out. His voice rang out over the walls. He charged again swinging wildly. Each attack was easy to evade. Sidestepping around the man he turned trying to find Robb. “I’ll kill you Stark.”

“To the death!” Joffrey’s voice cut through their fight. “This is to the death!”

Robb barely recognized that voice but it registred. He considered kicking sand up to blind Crakehall’s one good eye. That would be dishonorable. Spurred on by the Prince’s decree he came in with increased fury getting his second wind. Robb dodged and ducked until one parry knocked Crakehall’s blade up and into his shoulder slicing the skin. 

The broke apart and Robb winced biting his teeth together hard. Grimacing through the pain. The smug look of satisfaction on Crakehall’s face was maddening. Robb went on the attack trying to repay the favor. His strikes glanced off the steel plate and Robb was caught again on the arm opening him up. Neither wound was deep but they smarted.

They circled each other. Crakehall was exhausted and now Robb wanted to do him harm. He came in for another attack feigning left then right but attacking from the left knocking his sword down and jamming his blade up into Crakehall’s face taking him through the good eye until the tip of his sword was stopped by the back of the inside of his helm. Robb had screamed with animalistic rage as he struck.

Still roaring he withdrew his bloody sword as Crakehall fell to his knees and dropped onto the sand dead.

Seven hells.

He had killed the man.

That was the first man he had killed. He hadn’t even thought about it before he went in for the final blow. Joffrey… That little fucking shit.

 

-M-

She sighed with relief when Robb plunged his sword through Ser Crakehall’s head. Her heart was pounding with stress she didn’t want to lose Robb and she had come so close. It had been terrifying watching him bleeding from his shoulder and his arm as he circled around and tried to break the man’s steel plate. Robb had stormed up from the pit and was striding over to the royal table holding his bloody blade his tunic drenched in his and Crakehall’s blood. He looked furious.

A knight of the Kingsguard stood in his way and blocked him.

“Sheathe your blade in front of the prince my lord,” he ordered.

Robb stood there shaking with fury his jaw clenched and his eyes bulging. He took several deep breathes and roughly shoved his sword into its sheath and took off his belt and threw it down next to his chair sat down. Was he going to continue the feast like that? Coated in blood. Looking down at the pit the corpse had already been dragged off and the sand fixed like nothing had happened.

What an awful little shit the prince was. Margaery couldn’t have expected just how nasty he was.

She heard Robb telling someone he was fine and just scratched. 

Joffrey looked angry. He had clearly wanted to see a different result. Did he have no mind for repercussions? Vicious and stupid… What a terrible mix.

Robert came trundling back. He didn’t even notice Robb’s wounds. None the wiser… No wonder Joffrey was such a bastard. 

They ate the last couple of courses and Robert left with a serving woman and Cersei, Myrcella, Tommen and Joffrey went a different way. Everyone left but Robb who was rooted to his seat. 

“Are you ok?” Margaery asked going to sit next to him. There were a few people milling about. Her father and mother were talking to some people she didn’t recognize and her grandmother was long gone. 

“I suppose so,” he said grimly staring off into the distance. 

Margaery looked down at his hand which was locked in a death grip around the stem of his glass. She reached over and pulled his fingers off one by one. He let her do it but didn’t respond. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“I was going to kill him.”

“You did…” 

“I mean the prince. When I came back up here I thought about nothing but stabbing him repeatedly.”

“You didn’t. It’s over now. You don’t need to see him for a while.”

“No I suppose I don’t. I don’t want to see a Lannister for a while.”

“Your wife?”

“She’s staying with her mother, with her family for the night. They’re having some second meal and celebration together in their royal apartments. I wasn’t invited.”

“Did you want to be?”

“No. No. I really didn’t.”

“You need to have your wounds cleaned. You don’t want to get sick,” Margaery pleaded. She wanted to hold his hand and squeeze it reassuringly but refrained from such affection in public. Robb just shrugged at that. “If you get ill from septic wounds you’re just giving Joffrey what he wants.” He nodded. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your quarters.”

Margaery tugged his arm and he stood. Moving in a daze she directed him by the elbow towards his solar. They walked in silence. She didn’t have anything to say to him right now. Robb looked miles away. 

“Thank you for walking me back,” he said absentmindedly at his door.

“Let me clean your wounds,” she offered. She was worried he was hurt worse than he looked and if he passed out in his solar alone when his wife would was away… It didn’t bare thinking about. 

“Erm… I’m not sure…”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she pushed him in through the open door and closed it behind them.

“Bolt it.”

She did so sliding the lock into place. She turned to examine his solar. It was pretty much an exact copy of her and Renly’s room. Decorated differently but the same size and layout. Robb had stumbled a little as he walked to a chair and slumped down on it. He sat with his head in his hands breathing heavily.

Margaery located the water basin and found a cloth.

“Come on get up,” She pulled him under his arm. He moved and trudged over to the water basin. She hooked her fingers under the hem of his doublet and pulled it up, Robb held his arms over his head allowing her to remove his shirt. The wounds had closed. Just. There was blood splattered everywhere. Margaery dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out and began mopping the blood from his arm. 

The muscle tightened as the cold rag patted against it. She wrung it out and moved onto his shoulder and started patting and wiping away the gore. He winced and hissed as she touched the torn skin.

“All better,” she said tossing the cloth aside. She didn’t move back from him. He didn’t move back from her. She wasn’t looking at his face, instead examining the wounds. He had developed a scar from his first encounter with Ser Crakehall in the melee. In the low light of the dusk and the flickering orange candles she could every definition of the muscle and red and white lines of the scar.

She reached out to touch the scar on his chest, running her finger down the mark. His skin was hard to the touch and rough and bumpy where the flaw was. Her heart was beating faster again. She bit down on her lip and took a breath to steady herself. Before finally looking up at Robb’s face.

He was staring at her intently. 

Wordlessly she leaned up to kiss him lightly at first. Their lips breaking almost as soon as they touched. Then longer they lingered as their lips met. Until they were back on the balcony and kissing softly and tenderly. His hands came to rest on her back and hers on the bare skin of his shoulders. 

The passion grew as they tongues met and her hands began roaming over his back pressing him close to her. There was something sensual about feeling his bare flesh against her, even through her dress. 

Margaery felt like there was a fire racing through her veins. With each heartbeat pulsing the fire from her chest to every extremity. Each pulse getting more intense. 

Placing her hands on his she guided him to the back of her dress by the ties and laces of it. Letting him know what she wanted him to do. He understood the gesture and began tugging at the laces unthreading them. Her hands dropped his lower back dropping her hands passed the waistline. The bodice surrounding her stomach fell to the floor. 

She was nervous. Nervous but ready she wanted this. She had decided she did and was ready when she thought Robb might die in the fight. The emotion and fear she felt. Combined with the desire and attraction she felt. 

This would be her first time and the first time she had been bare in front of a man or seen a man bare. 

They broke their kiss.

“Are you drunk?” He asked her.

“No… Are you?”

He shook his head softly. Not breaking eye contact she pulled her dress over her head and discarded it. In just her small clothes she leaned back up on her tiptoes to capture his lips again briefly. She held out her hand and he took it and she lead him to the bed. 

He bent down to kick off his boots. She steadied herself. Here goes. She pulled off her shift. Naked in front of him. The look he gave her body dispelled all doubts. He looked with such lust, drinking her in top to bottom. She gasped as he grabbed her around the arse and picked her up and sat her on the bed. 

Kissing him once more she reached down and untied the drawstring on his trousers and yanked them down for him to kick off. In just his small clothes she see could him, hard, through what little fabric was left covering him. Before she could properly look he pushed her back onto the bed and she crawled up on her elbows. She was confused for a moment as he crawled up onto the mattress but stopped at her knees. 

Before she could ask what he was doing he lay down between her legs and kissed her in her centre. She moaned. Moaned a noise she had never made before in her life. He engulfed her mound with his mouth and she had to bit back a cry. She moaned wantonly her legs kicking out and toes curling. As his tongue went through her folds she felt her eyes rolling back and her mind going blank.

Her body erupted in a brief few moments, coming to a crescendo and then her body tensing up and wave of pure pleasure replacing the fire with a cool, relaxing wave coming over her. 

“Fuck, Robb,” she breathed as he crawled up her body. She wrapped her hands in his hair and pulled him into a kiss, light, in between breathes, as she could taste herself on his lips. “Fuck.”

Recovering she reached down to grasp his hips and push him onto his back, he looked a little confused but she knew what she wanted. She tore off his smallclothes and straddled his hips. She took him in hand and pumped her hand up and down slowly a few times, he gasped lowly, feeling his length in her palm before raising herself up holding him at his base lowered herself down slowly onto him. Spurred on by making his elicit such noises.

Another involuntary gasp escaped her mouth as he entered her. She lowered herself slowly at first. His hands had come to rest on her hips and helping her guide herself down. She raised up carefully and then down again until it was easy and slick to move up and down in a rhythm. Speeding up she leaned back, with him inside her, looking up at the ceiling panting and gasping. 

She couldn’t help it and didn’t care anyway and more moans and cries came from her far beyond her control as they sped up together rising and falling on him. Leaning down over him her hair which had rocked itself loose and fell over his face. She kissed him as she could in between breaths and gasps. She cried out as he thrust up and she down onto him, her chest pressed against his as he thrust up into her taking control now. 

Her mind was slipping away again, unable to concentrate, she let herself give in completely to passion. She bit into his shoulder, trying to find some tether back to reality until she shuddered and trembled falling completely and going limp reaching a frenzied peak and climaxing.

“Fuck, Robb,” she repeated. He slid out of her and roll to the side to let her fall down next to him. “We’re not done yet,” she told him as he fiddled with the sheets. “Not by a long shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside:
> 
> Eddard: I'm lord Stark can you teach my daughter to sword fight?
> 
> Syrio: I am Syrio Forel the water dancer!
> 
> Eddard: Are you a water dancer?
> 
> Syrio: Yes a great water dancer
> 
> Eddard: No listen to the words which make up the question are you a water dancer.
> 
> Syrio: No I have no ability to waltz or tango on any elemental entity.
> 
> Eddard: You can sword fight though?
> 
> Syrio: Yeah...


	7. -7-

-M-

Her nails were digging into Robb’s shoulders and he was on top of her, the frenzy of their passionate love making had slowed to a more tender pace. Able to kiss each other and light nip at his jaw and earlobe. Some of the candles had burnt out and there was a low orange glow to the solar, casting the perfect, mood setting light over the bed. 

Murmuring his name into his ear he slid in and out of her and she kept having to suppress shudders and trembles as her toes curled from the new sensation. They were one above the sheets joined together. They had found a joint rhythm moving in perfect synchronisation. Margaery ran her nails over his back raking red welts down like an animal. She didn’t care about the consequences. They didn’t even enter her mind in the moment. 

She let out a series of linked of moans rising and surging towards a zenith as she pressed her body downwards as Robb came upwards. Forcing herself down. The heat of his body melded with hers. The roughness of his skin and body hair tickled against her skin. Margaery repeated his name, breathlessly as for the second time of the night her body was reaching an apex. She couldn’t think and stars appeared in her mind’s eye as she came undone and let out one final whimper lying back, momentarily rendered listless.

Robb pulled out of her and lay next to her. 

“Give… give me a second,” she said faintly. 

“Of course,” he murmured. She had her eyes closed recovering but could hear him getting up and the sound of water hitting the bottom of a cup. Then him getting into the bed next to her. Finally she opened her eyes and rolled onto her side to look at Robb. She put her hand on his chest and used his body to push herself up. “Hey!” He complained as Margaery snatched the cup from him and drank the cool water inside. 

“Thirsty,” she shrugged passing it back before nuzzling into his shoulder as his arm came to hold her tight to his body. He drained the cup and tossed it aside letting it clatter on the floor. 

“Are you alright Margaery?”

“Uh-huh,” she just hummed, comfortable and relaxed. “That was amazing… I’m glad it was with you.”

“Was that your first time?”

“Second.”

“Your first?”

“About fifteen minutes before with you,” she said flippantly and he laughed, she could feel his lungs rumbling under her cheek as it rested on him. “Though with no comparison I don’t know if it was any good,” she teased him cocking her head up to look at him and smile.

“You smell like roses,” he mumbled. 

“All my perfume is rose infused. You smell of blood and dead Westerlander,” She retorted.

“I won’t try to be sweet again then.”

“Do, I’m just I’m going to ridicule you irregardless. No, no, no,” she held his wrist as Robb went to pull up the sheets. “I don’t want you to cover up just yet.”

“I thought you needed a rest?”

“I do, just I like a view with my resting time,” she said cheekily almost being able to feel the heat spreading to his cheeks in a blush. Margaery let her hand trail lazily and limp over Robb’s chest and abdominals running her finger through the parting of the muscle. Lightly tracing a pattern. “You’re really pale,” she said.

“I’m from the North…”

“It suits you.”

Margaery shifted down the bed throwing her leg over him and curling up into his side. Feeling his body warmth between her legs and over her torso. She nudged his forehead lightly with her forehead and when he turned in response she kissed him softly. More tender than ever before, feeling the power of the shared experienced. He had been inside her and completing her and all of those emotions channelled through her lips into his. 

She was heating up again. The fire which hadn’t gone out, but was lying dormant in embers as they rested was roaring within her once more. His hand came to rest on her hip which was pressed against him. She felt him harden against her leg. Altering her position against him she reached between his legs to touch him, running her nails over his length and he growled into her mouth and twitched under her caress. Marvelling that it moved as if it had a mind of its own she wrapped her hand around his shaft, moving her fist up and down tentatively gauging his reaction. Exploring him for the first time proper. 

He emitted a low rumbled from his throat and tightened his grip on her hip, letting go then holding her under her arse cheek and squeezing roughly. She in turn made an involuntarily noise. Robb grabbed at her roughly and turned her around so her back was to his front and he pulled her leg back over his. Slithering one arm under her shoulder and holding her by stomach, with the other he lifted her top leg and positioned himself.

Margaery moaned out, beyond her control, as he entered her from behind slowly, very slowly he started a gentle rhythm until Robb was able to lower her leg. They were linked. Spooning as he, for the first time, held her breasts with each hand. Massaging them a new pleasure came from him fondling the supple flesh.

Cupping her cleavage anchored her to him and she was able to start matching his rhythm, grinding back on Robb. She bit down on the sheets so stop herself from making too much noise. The stimulation from between her legs and her chest combined meant she wanted to cry out wantonly. With the sheets tight between her teeth all she could hear was Robb’s heavy pants and the slapping noise of their bodies colliding.

Losing control she was rolling more onto her front unable to concentrate on holding herself up against him. He let her roll onto her stomach, moving with her. She barely recognized his legs either side of her arse as she was on her front. Despite this shift, he had managed to stay inside her. If she had to bite into the sheets before, now she needed to grab a pillow and hold it over her face.

The noises coming out of her were primal and she didn’t care. The feeling of fire inside her was more like a wildfire. Unleashed and intense razing her from the inside. She reached another climax her body tensing and unable to bite down on the pillow she actually drooled but embarrassment and shame were feelings which existed in a realm she no longer inhabited. 

Everything rushed towards a climax and her body tensed up and she went limp. Breathing in ragged, uneven breaths. That was amazing. Why had she waited to do this with Robb? 

***

It was saddening that she had to leave him during the night. It just was the Red Keep had eyes and ears and Myrcella could have returned in the morning and that would be horrendous. Margaery felt as if she were gliding through the halls on her short walk back to her own chambers. She had to repress the urge to sing, it felt like a lifetime had passed since the awful name day of the prince.

Though looking back she should thank the prince for being such a prick otherwise the events of the evening wouldn’t have panned out so wonderfully. She had been tempted as she stood by the door to Robb and Myrcella’s solar holding to Robb’s naked body to keep kissing and push him back onto the bed. Just the risk was too great. 

She was aching in between her thighs. It was a good ache though. Like a pleasant pulse. 

Renly was strangely in their solar when she got back. That was unusual and made her heart jump nervously for a second before she realized that didn’t matter. He spent most nights away having an affair so what if she did? Besides Robb hadn’t finished inside her so it was hardly as if she was going to be pregnant. Not because she had asked him not to or anything. In the moment she wanted him to, for them to share that moment to the deepest extent. In fact if anything she was concerned that he hadn’t enjoyed the experience as much as she had by trying not to finish in her.

Margaery quietly undressed, this time for sleep, and got under the sheets. There was still a line of pillows and cushions separating their two sides of the bed. Renly had disappeared from the feast of his nephew’s name day the moment the competition got bloody and violent, and with Loras not present it was pretty obvious what he had been up to. So all things considered what she had been up too was only fair. 

Burrowing her head into the pillows Margaery sighed contentedly. Everything had come together so perfectly that evening and now she knew she would drift off into sweet dreams.

***

Strolling to break her fast in the rose garden Margaery was actually singing out loud, something she thought she had abandoned when she’d left Highgarden. She couldn’t help herself on that morning. Despite being a little sore between her thighs she felt amazing. Went to sleep happy and woke up ecstatic. Having to repress the urge to cry out and punch the air. 

“Morning,” she basically chirped at her brother who was eating a massive breakfast. 

“You’re in a good mood,” he observed. 

“I am, I am, where is grandmother?”

“Telling off father for being an oaf or some such thing, you know the usual.”

“Right,” she laughed after requesting some fruit and iced water from a servant.

“So how was the feast?”

“Not nice actually,” Margaery told him, becoming serious. “Why weren’t you there by the way?”

“Well I wasn’t directly invited and I’m hardly going to go out of my way to spend time with our crown prince.”

“Good point.”

“I heard your… Your friend? Well regardless, I heard he killed a man.”

“He did. Yes, yes it was horrible. The King left to use the privy…”

“Really? I just presumed the man soiled himself and changed later,” Loras interrupted with a smirk. “Not wanting to miss a moment of drinking and eating.”

“Yuck… Well anyway,” she stressed the word, showing she didn’t want further interruptions. “When the King went off his son used the chance to spring a trap on Robb Stark.”

“That sounds a bit of a dramatic.”

“Well it was, he had Ser Crakehall, who is a Lannister bannerman, and a giant of a man…”

“Was…”

“Well yeah was, but he taunted Robb into fighting the man, with no armor, midway through an indulgent feast and it was awful. Robb was cut several times, he barely survived, Joffrey even called for the fight to be to the death halfway through, he gave him no choice.”

“Renly told me the Hound killed some poor fat fool, so I’ve just heard whispers and rumors about it really.”

“Well yes, he did, two deaths, the prince loved it.”

“So what happened then?”

“Robert took some serving girl away, brazenly in front of his wife. His wife; the Queen took all her children back to the Lannister apartments for some extra celebrations, torturing puppies or whatever.”

“And you?”

“I made sure Robb was ok…”

“Then you fucked him?”

“What? Pardon me?! Don’t… No.”

“Oh seven hells, I was joking, you did didn’t you?”

“Noooo.”

“Or yes?”

“Maybe.”

“Look at you sister; corrupted by the capitol within only a few weeks of living here,” he teased nudging her playfully in the ribs. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul. Maybe Renly. Can’t promise anything there.”

“Don’t.”

“Why? Why would he care? He won’t ever touch you, he knows you know about him and I so where’s the problem?”

“Don’t be naive, this is King’s Landing, people don’t care about your relationship because Renly is the King’s brother, it would be dangerous to make sure accusations. Whereas Robb… Many people don’t care about the Northerners and others, well the Lannisters, loathe them.”

“Fine,” he held up his hands in submission. “I won’t. So. He’s very good looking.”

“He is.”

“How was it?”

 

-R-

Robb felt weak waking up. He had lost blood from fighting and then spent most of the following evening between the sheets with Margaery Tyrell. Dreamily he opened his eyes and reached out to find no one there. Of course. The night came flooding back as he awoke fully. He felt fulfilled. Margaery had been better to lie with than he could have fantasized. Leading him, taking him in hand, involved and passionate. She wanted him for him, not out of a sense of duty…

Alone in his solar he sent for hot bathing water and breakfast.

Considering what had happened yesterday he would probably be within his rights to stay within his chambers all day. Looking in the mirror he prodded at the scars already forming over his upper shoulder and bicep. Joining the one over his chest. All given to him by the same man. Though the wound he returned in kind was far worse. 

It was unbelievable that Myrcella had gone off with her family without even checking he wasn’t seriously injured. Her brother tried to have him killed and what? It was treated as if it were just a normal event, not out of the ordinary at all. The sheets of the bed had blood on them… Shit. That was probably Margaery’s if it were her first time last night. Most highborn women didn’t bleed after horseriding much more than their lower born counterparts. 

Maybe it was his blood. Touching the fresh wounds they had barely healed over. They should be fine, he really didn’t want to go have to see the Grand Maester and have him tut over the wounds, poking at him and being rude. 

Should he feel guilty? He ought to. Robb just didn’t care. It was too amazing lying with Margaery Tyrell to care. Honor and dishonor were lines being blurred by his life in the capitol… Was he being corrupted? Robb didn’t think so. He was still the same man, just pursing love over a contract. Best not to dwell on the negatives. It was pretty hard to be guilty about breaking his vows to his wife when was absent. 

***

“You holding up alright Robb?” Jon Arryn had pulled himself aside before the council meeting. 

“Yeah I’m alright.”

“Alright? Do you need to see a maester? I have my own personal one here so you don’t have to see,” Jon paused to look around and make sure they were alone, “Pycelle.”

“I think it’s ok my lord.”

“I’m going to have a word with Robert about what happened. If I had been there I would have stopped it. You were in no fit state to compete and…” The hand shook his head exhaling. “To the death? I can’t scarcely believe it. I will make sure the prince is reprimanded by his father for such savagery.”

“Don’t worry my lord, I thank you for your concern but I’m fine, it’s a shame Ser Crakehall had to die, but I’m fine.”

Jon Arryn looked at Robb for a moment deliberating his words. Lowering his voice he came to stand closer. 

“I know I’m not your father, but I tried hard to be one to your father and I know what it is like to first take a life, it shouldn’t be done easily nor with a light conscience. I know you did what was right but if you want to talk about it or get anything off your chest I will be here for you if you need me to be.”

“Thank you my lord, that’s very kind of you.”

“Even if you just want to dine with me and your Aunt. Either is fine, we needn’t mention it just a distraction.”

“That is very much appreciated my lord, I will let you know,” Robb replied. He didn’t particularly want to eat with them. His cousin Robin was a weak child who was still fed from his Aunt Lysa’s teat. She had not been welcoming on their scattered interactions. If he didn’t know better he would have suspected that her mind was leaving her. So that was a dinner he would rather avoid. 

It was odd to feel the pressure of everyone’s eyes falling on him as the council meeting began. The looks were different. Pycelle looked suspicious. Mace smiled at him warmly. Renly appraised him bemused. Varys gave him a false smile of compassion and Littlefinger had that fake smile of smug superiority. Stannis could care less. 

“Now,” Jon clapped his hands together, “Lord Tyrell wished to speak.”

“Thank you Lord Hand, thank you indeed,” the fat lord blustered. “I have received a raven saying that there were reaving parties raiding the Shield Islands. Lord Osbert Serry writes to inform me that villages have been plundered and women taken for the most nefarious of purpose I would guess.”

“Well don’t,” Stannis interrupted. “Don’t guess.”

“Irregardless,” Mace huffed trying to shoot Stannis a dirty look but couldn’t maintain the icy gaze he got in return. “We all know of Lord Balon’s treacherous nature and the vicious lifestyle of the Ironborn.”

“How do we know these men are Ironborn? And not just pirates?” Pycelle muttered in his ponderous manner. Robb thought of Theon, left at Winterfell. He had been good friends with the man and he hadn’t thought of him in ages. Though he rarely thought about home, it was too depressing. If the thought cropped up in his mind he extinguished immediately. 

“Well… It’s quite… Obvious… I mean look here,” Mace blustered again in that ludacris pomp of his. “These are my lands being attacked and people who look to me for safety and protection who were killed and theived from!”

“‘Theived,’ isn’t a word,” Stannis said coldly.

“Well the point still stands. Something must be done, I feel this council should sign a letter I will pen to Lord Greyjoy telling him to desist and demand justice for those who have been wronged.”

“I’m afraid some more evidence is required my lord, however I would recommend that you send some soldiers from Highgarden or Oldtown to bolster the defences of the Shield Islands in the meantime,” Jon Arryn said softly. It was as if he were trying to calm a stroppy child. 

This went on for some time. 

***

Returning to his solar Robb was actually surprised by the presence of his wife. She didn’t acknowledge him with more than an incline of her head as he entered. 

“Hello?” He said rather pointedly. 

“Hello.”

“I’m fine by the way. From the stabbings I took at the whim of your brother,” Robb said sarcastically. 

“Good.”

“I’m going to the godswood,” he announced storming out in a terrible mood. That was unfair. She was being off with him and being short but he had been the one who wronged her… It was just she didn’t know he had wronged her and he hadn’t wronged her when this distance started developing. Well maybe a little but not properly as he had the night before.

Robb stomped petulantly to the godswood which he had been to all of one time before hand. Never being particularly pious was one reason. The main reason was more that it was too reminiscent of home and the North. He just needed some time to relax away from everyone and everything in the capitol. 

That wasn’t true he didn’t want to be alone. However the person he wanted to see he couldn’t during the day. When there were eyes everywhere. Everywhere but the godswood.

 

-M-

“Really?” 

“Truly,” Loras nodded, “Renly loves it when I do that and when he does it for me seve…”

“Don’t! I don’t need details, I appreciate the tip and everything just keep it theoretical,” Margaery said quickly. That was one great benefit of having a brother who liked men as a confidant. He could teach her things which she would never learn otherwise. Who would know what a man wanted more than a man and a man who loves a man at that? 

“Oh and also why not try… Oh shit, grandmother,” he whispered in a rushed hushed tone. “Yes I agree the weather is rather nice,” he said loudly as if they had been discussing such things all along.

“I’m old not stupid,” she said sitting down at the stone gazebo and stabbing Loras in the ribs with the tip of her walking cane getting him to move down. “I don’t need to know what you youngsters are gossiping about but no need to patronize me with your hollow pretences.”

It was strange, Margaery reflected, that her brother would gossip and talk like one of her handmaidens. Yet also he was in all honesty one of the greatest knights in the kingdoms. Well tournament knights. There had been no wars for him to prove himself in… Thankfully.

“Your father is an oaf! He wants the Iron Islands burned to the ground because of some piracy!”

“If those Greyjoy dogs have attacked our lands I would volunteer to lead the attack on Pyke,” Loras perked up. There was a good example there of his duality. Talking about boys one moment then offering to assault a citadel the next. 

“Don’t be stupid. It’s nothing and if it is then leave it to Randyll Tarly.”

Margaery zoned out of the conversation, she felt hot and distracted, her skin crawling. She wanted to go find Robb Stark and claw his clothes off and jump on him. The pit of her stomach was churning and she ached between her legs, breathing a little heavier just imagining reliving what she and him had the night previous. 

“Margaery?!” Olenna snapped at her.

“Huh?” She asked looking up quickly her heart beginning to race as if she had been caught doing something wrong. She looked down and she had been trailing her nails of one hand up her arm which was resting on the gazebo table. She bit down on her lip and raised her eyebrows trying to look normal. “Yes?”

“Nevermind,” she shook her head. 

“I have to go and do… Have a meal,” Margaery said hurriedly wanting to leave. Her grandmother just rolled her eyes. Loras got up to let her pass and whispered that Renly would be staying with him that evening. So her chambers would be free.

Walking out of the gardens she actually saw Robb Stark pacing off somewhere. He was moving fast and looked grumpy. She almost called out but with all the servants and guardsmen littering the corridor decided against it. Thinking it would be obvious a link between them to call so blatantly for his attention. 

Shrugging to herself, thinking ‘why not,’ she followed his direction. Even if she lost him or he was going to a place she couldn’t follow she could at least kill some time stretching her legs. Or so she told herself to justify what she was doing.

The labyrinth of halls which made up the Red Keep were hard to follow someone through. Coming a stop she looked around to get her bearing. The only thing in the direction she had been stalking… Walking. Walking not stalking. Definitely walking in a very innocence and not at all stalking manner. There was the kitchens. The servant’s quarters and entrances. The Godswood. A feasting hall for lesser occasions. The godswood was probably the most likely option. They prayed to trees up North. The closer she got the sparser the amount of other people who were around. Did anyone else use the godswood? She couldn’t think of any houses present in the Red Keep who prayed to the Old Gods.

Walking into the open air. Not stalking. Walking into the open air Margaery instantly felt that she was an outsider intruding. The woods had power. She had been in the godswood in Highgarden used by the Gardeners, but it was lush and bright. This one was darker, about an acre, making it feel tight and oppressive full of elms and black cottonwood trees. 

There was a ringed wall which overlooked the Blackwater Rush on the far side and the castle itself on the other. 

The deeper into the godswood Margaery got the more on edge she felt. This wasn’t a place for her. 

“Margaery?”

“Ah!” She squeaked in fright. Before she saw Robb walking towards her from deeper inside the woods. “Oh gods,” she placed a hand to her heart. “You scared me witless!”

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be here. I came here to be alone, it’s probably the only place in the capitol where I can be alone,” he explained. Robb had stopped and instead of joining her motioned her to join him. She followed him to a great oak which was surrounded by overgrown hedges and tree roots and a spooky face caved into the trunk. He sat down by the tree and rested his back against it. Before standing hurriedly to shrug off his tunic, she thought him a bit forward until she realized he had a thin shirt underneath and was laying it on the grass for her sit on. 

“How gallant of you!” She teased carefully sitting down on his tunic. “You don’t mind my company then? I’m not interrupting your prayers?”

“No, no, no,” Robb shook his head fervently. “No definitely not, I was hoping to see you,” her heart fluttered at that. “But I just couldn’t come knocking on your door or striding into the rose garden. So if I couldn’t be with you I thought instead it best to be alone.”

“How sweet. So is your room still free then?” She asked, wanting to take the conversation straight to indulging her desire. She had waited all that time, even past the time of her wedding night and now there was no time to waste. 

“No. It isn’t. That’s the main reason I’m here.”

“Loras told me mine will be all night.”

“That’s very forward.”

“Considering you were inside me less than a day a go I don’t think that is forward,” Margaery said dryly searching for a reaction she got immediately as Robb coughed and spluttered going a little pink. It was rather endearing. “In comparison,” she added smiling with her false innocence at him. 

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” he said very carefully. 

“What? Is something wrong?” She asked. Worried all of a sudden, she had such a great time with him that the idea that he might not have, or reflected on the night and come to a conclusion that was the opposite to her’s hadn’t even been considered. Now she was suddenly considering it, it was like a crushing weight striking her all at once. 

“No, nothing’s wrong, I’m just…”

Oh no. Margaery waited for him to say unable to ever see her again or that they could never be together again. That he was eating himself up with remorse?

“Shy,” he said going really pink.

The weight on her heart which had risen to the top of throat disappeared and escaped her in the form of laughter. It was a genuine laugh and one of relief on top of that. Expecting him to drop some horrible and crushing revelation and instead he admitted something bashful and sheepish. 

“I know you are,” she took it in stride, “it’s why it’s so much fun to tease you and watch your pale face go all red.” Robb grumbled and muttered something. Margaery nudged him hard in the ribs. “Don’t be so miserable Stark.”

“I’m not miserable!” He whined like a child. 

“You’re falling to bits.”

“No, I’m not you’re just winding me and trying to get this reaction and I’m giving it to you.”

“Still.”

“You can’t just say… Oh whatever. So…” He stopped as she didn’t waste anymore time and grabbed him under his jaw and pulled him to face her and kissed him hard, their teeth clicking with the impact. He pulled back quickly. “Public,” he coughed before looking around the empty godswood in which they were in the centre of. He shrugged and kissed her back, she adjusted her body against the gnarled wood of the tree and placed her hand on his cheek to hold him to her.

“Argh!” She groaned with frustration as they broke apart and looked up at the sky. The sun was still in the long process of setting and darkness and the night in which they could satiate their desire was a time off. She leaned her head onto his shoulder and moved around so he could throw his arm her back and own shoulder in turn.

***

Margaery just paced her chambers, going to the balcony intermittently to watch the progress of the sun dipping behind the Blackwater. She held a crushed up Dragon’s Breath flower which was an unique plant which grew from the heart tree. Robb had plucked one and placed it in her hair before they left the godswood. It was a dark red color, like dragon’s breath might be or the red of the bleeding eyes of the face carved into the heart tree. They had left separately, from the different exits in order to be inconspicuous. 

Renly was busy shaving his chest hair off. He was clearly preparing for her brother and a long night with him. His body wasn’t terrible, she thought, he didn’t have any fat on him just no muscle, or at least no definition of muscle. He certainly didn’t have any scars. Margaery rather liked the scars forming on Robb’s chest, it looked masculine as did body hair. Surely if a man liked other men he would want them to be manly? Best not to dwell on what her brother found attractive.

That was a mental image she didn’t need in her head. 

“Well I am leaving for the evening,” Renly told her pulling on a doublet. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Can you tell Loras to return that hair brush he borrowed from me?” Margaery asked sweetly. Renly scowled and bit down on his lip. It didn’t make sense that he was perfectly fine with Margaery knowing where he was off to and what he was up to but making any reference to his relationship with her brother made him uncomfortable.

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. 

Margaery waited for a few long minutes. Time dripping by slowly in her anticipation for what was to come. She didn’t want to bump into Renly in the corridor so after waiting an appropriate amount of time she wandered out to the balcony where she and Robb had their first, second and third kiss to meet him. They had agreed in the godswood to meet there as he was all timid about knocking on her door. 

She watched the sun set in the water so she wouldn’t blind herself from its rays. 

The city was lighting up with torches as the growing shade battled it out with the retreating light covering the sprawling collection of houses, stores and inns. The lighthouse was blinking awake as the pyre which kept it lit throughout the night was kindled far away by the edge of the docks. 

“Watching the city from one of the many vantage points?” Robb asked joining her leaning against the railings to look out on the nearly dark night sky.

“There isn’t too much to do here. So looking at the city from here, my room, the battlements its all the variety a gal can expect out of life,” Margaery replied and she looked over at him to see the hint of a smile flashed over his lips. 

“Is Renly gone?”

“Oh look at you! All eager,” she teased and he blushed as if on command. “Oh relax, come on.”

Margaery pushed Robb through the door after they very poorly and incredibly lazily checked whether anyone was in the corridor and slammed it shut behind them and slid the bolt over locking them in. 

“This room is…” Robb started but she didn’t give him a chance as she lunged at him, kissing him hard and tearing at the toggles of his tunic as she walked him back towards the bed. Pushing him down on her side. He shot the line of pillows which separated her and Renly apart an odd look but she didn’t let him reflect on that. More important things were on her mind.

She threw his shirt off onto the floor and started undoing the ties on his breeches and yanking them down. Robb was unlacing her dress and taking off the bodice. He growled as she touched him for the first time of the night and grabbed her by the shoulders and flipped them around so he was on top of her.

-R-

So this was what Margaery must have felt like the night previous Robb thought as he left her solar after she had peeked her head out and looked around the hallway to make sure no one was around. He wanted to stay with her. To hold her to him, their naked bodies pressed together and sleep entwined with each other. Yet it was more than his life was worth to be gone all night. It was still pretty late. 

Just hopefully not suspiciously so. 

Robb stopped by the balcony to peer out onto the city. He was so calm and serene. 

Deep breath. 

Robb pushed open his solar door. He needed to get his clothes off. They must have smelled like rose tinted perfume. 

Myrcella was sitting at her desk with a book in her hands. Mirroring her coldness from their conversation that morning he just nodded at her and went to his side of the bed taking a wide berth to undress.

“Can I ask you something?” She spoke up.

“Certainly.”

“Why was there blood on our sheets when I got back? I had to have the servants provide fresh linen.”

Oh shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stannis: I am the Lord of Light, Azor Ahai, The King of the Narrow Sea, The King of the Painted Table, The King at the Wall, and King of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord of the Andals and First Men, Defender of the Realm, who smashed the Greyjoy Fleet.
> 
> Davos: Yeah, I can't be bothered to correct that.


	8. -8-

-R-

Ah. Oh no. He shifted awkwardly under Myrcella’s gaze. Scratching his arm sheepishly and standing spear shaft straight looking as suspicious as was possible to look suspicious.

“It’s blood,” Robb said stupidly. He wasn’t a practiced liar. He wasn’t a practiced devious type who had been raised in the South who knew how to play others against each other for his own gain. So now he was coming across like a child with chocolate smeared over their face being confronted by their mother asking where had the lovely cake she cooked disappeared to in a crumby mess. 

“Yes I know its blood.”

“It’s my blood,” he said unconvincingly. “From the wounds I sustained,” Robb then felt the need to point to the places where Ser Crakehall’s blade had nicked him. 

“I presumed so, I just thought it inconsiderate that you wouldn’t have the servants change the linen immediately as you woke up,” Myrcella said eyeing him suspiciously. Which was fair enough considering he was acting in a manner which raised suspicion. 

“Sorry about that princess.”

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah the wounds aren’t too bad… I think they’ve stopped bleeding now,” Robb told her trying to act normal. An impossible task as if you are acting normal you are just doing it the second you try to act normal you can’t be normal as you’re too busy acting. 

“I know Ser Crakehall well, the Strongboar they called him. He used to tussle my hair as a child,” Myrcella said. 

Robb had nothing to say to that. The man wanted to attack him because he lost a melee and an eye and was happy to fight to the death for the whim of her crazed, blood lusting brother. Well he tried to tussle his blood out of his body, he almost said before biting his tongue and rethinking. 

“Well…” Robb started and trailed out. He had nothing to say. He was in a post-coital buzz from his short, rushed evening with Margaery Tyrell and he didn’t really want to reflect on his first and wildly unnecessary kill in front of an audience. “Sorry about that too,” he conceded. She just shrugged as he took the cloth and basin Margaery had used to clean his wounds at to wash the scar tissue again. They weren’t bleeding but he wanted to make sure he masked any possible lingering smell of rose tinted perfume.

Myrcella kept reading for ages, longer than it took him to sleep and he got nervous when she got into the bed that she would somehow be able sense what he had done. 

Her recent developed coldness had raised a few questions about what exactly Cersei had said to her. Yet those questions were squashed quite considerably by the more pressing thoughts and memories of lying with Margaery. That took precedent. By a mile. Not wanting to get her pregnant did on top of that leave Robb a little frustrated. 

***

Waking up he felt equally frustrated. He had dreamed of Margaery and waking up to see Myrcella snoozing next to him was frustrating. Robb got out of bed and pulled on some clothes and his sword. Deciding he could hammer out his grievances in the training yard until he was sore. He made a decision to train as often as possible in the capitol. After his little sister and his bastard brother had told him rather jarringly not to get fat and lazy in the South.

That he had taken the insults to heart. Besides a certain woman who wanted him and he wanted in return seemed to like his body so keeping in shape was… A good thing to do. It was flimsy justification. 

“Are you sure you are right enough to train again Lord?” Alyn asked him as Robb pulled off his shirt which was already beginning to cling to him in the dry morning heat. “Those scars look fresh.”

“They are fresh.”

“Well of course, I don’t want to reopen them.”

“You’re not good enough,” Robb taunted him as he warmed up, swinging his sword a few times.

“Are you going to write your father my Lord?” 

“At some point,” Robb replied warily. He had been putting off sending a raven North. He knew his father loathed the capitol. Loathed the idea of him marrying into the royal family and hated the idea of his heir having to remain in the capitol due to the King not wanting to pick a fight his wife. So there was nothing positive to write home about. ‘Hi dad I’ve broken my vows and killed a man, lots of love Robb.’ That didn’t sound too good. It needed some polishing before he committed quill to paper.

“I meant about what happened with the prince, we all heard about it.”

“Right. Well I’m sure the rumor mill has made it a lot worse than it was,” Robb tried to appease his captain of the guard. Though he wasn’t quite sure how the events could have been made worse through a grapevine retelling. That the prince pushed him into the pit and he had to fight naked with a salad fork? 

“It’s a borderline murder attempt,” Alyn said quietly looking around to see if there were any other people around who might rush off to report this to the Queen. 

“What would my father do?”

“Write to the King… Maybe.”

“That seems a little pointless. Sending a raven North in the hope that one returns to the South in order to have the prince scolded?”

“True. It’s just… It isn’t right and the King loves your father more than anyone else.”

“Certainly more than his wife,” Robb japed hoping to get the topic away from this. He wouldn’t be writing his father over the incident at Joffrey’s name day. It would serve no purpose. The thought of worrying his mother was something he would avoid at all costs. Luckily Alyn laughed. “Come on then.”

They clashed together, the steel smashing together.

***

That was probably not the best idea. Robb tried not to look hurt as he walked stiffly back to his solar. The freshly healed wounds were aching. The flesh which had only recently knitted itself back together felt as if it might burst and leak. His muscles were sore in places he didn’t know he had. A few more days of rest would have been best. Though the place in which he could rest; his chamber, was a place he wished to avoid. 

Myrcella wasn’t there. Probably with her mother. His good-mother. 

Would she feel this out of place if they had moved to Winterfell as they ought to? He truly doubted it. His family would be welcoming. Sansa would be infatuated with a princess just being there. His mother would do all she could to welcome Myrcella as a fellow Southerner coming to the North as she had too. His father certainly wouldn’t be absent and drunk like the King. The people of Winterfell, unlike the people of King’s Landing didn’t feel oppressive. It felt oppressive in the capitol eyes everywhere and ears in more places than that. 

He ate quickly. Bread and fish. Then bathed.

Then was at a loose end. No council meeting. No friends. He had naught to do. Myrcella had her mother and some handmaidens. Margaery had her family here. His father would never have tried to get on the council in order to advance some imagined position in the hierarchy of the kingdoms and his siblings too young to come live here with him.

He should be grateful that it was him who married Myrcella. As if the King was determined to join the Starks and Baratheons as he wished with Robb’s dead aunt then better him with the princess than sweet Sansa with the prince. The thought of his sister, the epitome of a lady, being at the mercy of that little monster was horrifying. 

-M-

“People are going to ask questions if you’re always in a good mood,” Loras told her as he caught Margaery on her walk to the rose gardens. “Everyone knows about Renly’s taste shall we say so the fact his wife is gleeful will raise suspicions.” She had been humming happily to herself true, she just thought that her brother wanted to get onto gossip.

“I doubt it.”

“Also, didn’t you shout at me and at Renly for using your bed?”

“Yes…” She admitted with a sly smile. “But did you respect the pillow wall I made?”

“No.”

“Ha! So it’s not the same is it?” She declared looping her arm through the crook of Loras’ elbow.

“Did you take my advice?”

“What advice? Oh… That advice,” she realized as he cocked an eyebrow at her suggestively. “No. I forgot. I didn’t really plan or think about anything just wanted to… Well you know.”

“Fuck a married man? Yeah,” he nodded. “I know the feeling believe it or not?” He said flippantly. “Do you like the danger sister? Or are you just bored and wrapping a man around your little finger appealed to your sense of fun? The difference is back home when you had all the boys doing what you wanted you didn’t give them what they wanted.”

“Who said I’m not getting this boy to do what I want,” Margaery returned the smirk, taking back the power from him as he snorted with laughter and held up his free hand in defeat.

“So you know the King’s name day is around the corner?”

“What? Another bloody event? Actually can’t complain too much about that… There is little else to do here.”

“Apart from…”

“Yes, yes fucking married men very good,” she waved him off dismissively. “How do the Baratheons afford all this expense? The Stormlands aren’t the wealthiest of Kingdoms.”

“No, it’s not like us.”

“I was thinking the Lannisters.”

“Having gold mines is cheating. Besides they’ll run out and we’ll still have our agriculture.”

“It’s a strange thing about your male pride that you’ll take pride in good farming discipline in order to claim some form of a victory. They might have mining but we have well tilled field,” She mimicked him. “Oh gods,” she sighed loudly as they traversed the gardens to see their father sitting with their mother and grandmother in the gazebo.

“Don’t you want to plot on how to advance the family to new heights!” Loras exclaimed pointing skywards mocking their father.

“I do believe it or not, the advancement of this family is very important to me, but there aren’t many opportunities in the current political climate. Badgering the King for…”

“Well the Hand,” Loras corrected.

“Yeah fair enough,” she conceded. King Robert Baratheon was very much an absentee King. “Well badgering the King’s hand for some allowance for the Reach seems fruitless. Especially with Stannis making father want to shit himself at the meetings.”

“I doubt that.”

“Robb told me.”

“Oh! I forgot you have a contact on the inside.”

“You do too. Renly is master of laws isn’t he?”

“Oh yeah,” he snorted again with laughter. “We don’t talk about such things, we have better things to do. Have things become so vanilla after just two nights together that you’re discussing politicking?”

“Shut up.”

“Children! Come, come!” Mace stood and shouted at his son and daughter. “Garlan has written me. He has sailed with a couple hundred men to the Shield Islands!”

“Good…”

“It is, when those Ironborn scum run into him! Oh they’ll regret setting foot on Tyrell land. When he gets hold of them and gets a confession!” 

Mace Tyrell was frothing at the possibility. Most likely he thought if he was able to get some retribution against the Greyjoys. Providing they were even behind this lone act of piracy. The Reach might be able to annex some island. Which would great. If her house ever needed some barren rock. The Greyjoy’s words were ‘we do not sow,’ for gods' sake. Not ‘We Do Sow Lots of Rich Agricultural Land.’ 

“Oh stop it Mace,” Olenna groaned. “This is getting ridiculous. I know you’re already planning on painting Pyke with rose petals all over it. Don’t get ahead of yourself. For once. Try. Besides if there is a naval battle it will be Lord Stannis who commands that. If there is a ground attack it will be Lord Stark who commands that. And! All of that if contrived that one raid on a couple of villages leads to a second rebellion from those shit stained islands.”

“Well…” Mace opened his mouth and shut it again having no reply. “Well, we shall see about that. We shall see.”

“Of course we will. So let’s wait and not be idiots for once.”

“Anyway,” Alerie spoke up coming to her husband’s aid after he had been rendered speechless by his grandmother. “The King is approaching his name day. What should we gift him?”

“Is there a whore who dispenses wine from between her legs?” Olenna suggested. 

“Mother! That is most inappropriate!”

“I know it was. Don’t condescend me. I knew it was and said it to be.”

“Well. Japing aside mother any suggestions?”

“No. Just get what you’re going to get anyway and save us this charade.” 

“I was thinking a golden goblet with bejewelled pendants on seven sides of each of the seven houses… Actually maybe six and leave off the Kraken.”

“That sounds lovely dear,” Alerie said diplomatically.

“It sounds too much. Does the man care what he swills his booze from? Actually who cares,” Olenna trailed off. 

“It sounds lovely father, very thoughtful,” Margaery spoke up for her father. She did enjoy her grandmother’s barbs but on the occasion when they appeared too mean she stepped in on Mace’s side. Besides she was full of life and joyful today.

“Will you be gracing us with your presence this time boy?”

“Yes…” Loras whined petulantly. This was the time in her family conversation where Margaery zoned out and went to a happy place in her head. Now she had a new happy place which involved remembering and somewhat indulging memories with Robb.

-R-

“A word my lord.”

Robb turned in the hallway. He had been for a walk to stop himself going crazy from just sitting in his solar. The heat and crushing uniformity of the day combined with being somewhat scared of his wife's presence. Not scared. Wary. That was a better word for it, drove him to stroll around. Out of all the people to stop and bother him he hadn’t expected the person who it was.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to walk or speak here?” Lord Varys asked him in that soft voice of his. It sounded affected. The smell of perfume was overpowering, almost sickening as he closed in. 

“Up to you.”

“Let’s speak here.”

Varys lead him towards one of the many balconies which littered the Red Keep overlooking the Blackwater and city. Much like the turret he and Margaery had made significant. Just with less of a view. 

“So this word?” Robb asked. A bit annoyed. He misliked the Spider. The man was openly a snake and proud of his role as a liar and informer. 

“Yes. Just I wish you no harm my lord and no foul however whispers reach me. They reach me regardless of the people involved. However I thought I should warn you that those who sing their little songs to me, well they have counterparts who sing their songs to others. Others who would enjoy watching a high lord fall. Either for malicious reasons, to advance themselves or just to watch the highborn lord burn.”

“You’re being vague.”

“Well vagueries have kept me safe in this viper’s nest in which live,” Varys said even more softly were that possible. He had a rather grating way of forming sentences. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Not really no. If you’re coming to let me know something which you’re hinting at is for my benefit and have dragged me off to some place where we won’t be overheard then vagueries are unnecessary,” Robb said. Instead of saying what he wanted to say which was ‘the fuck is about?’

“I sometimes forget you are not of the capitol. Not a schemer like the rest of us.”

“It isn’t a badge of honor Varys.”

“I never claimed it was, I was merely fairly assessing the situation,” he said with a bow and a shrewd, infuriating smile. “Anyway, Margaery Tyrell, she is a beautiful woman is she not? I mean I have no such urge or desire but I can still appreciate beauty when it is so apparent.” 

“I fear I know what you’re getting at,” Robb said. His nerves were fraying, he should have been more careful. 

“Not what you make think, though your answer there may lead to incriminate you more than you know. Guard your answers and replies my lord oft more can be given away by a guilty man than he needs to give.”

“Get to your point,” Robb snapped.

“Fair enough,” Varys held up his hands, powder shaking free of his powdered skin. “I have just had my little birds singing songs of two recently married highborns who are enjoying the company of each other.”

“...”

“I’m simply warning you such events don’t go unnoticed. Fortunately for you I have no ill will towards you or to the Tyrells. However there are those as I mentioned who do. So be careful my lord. I shall see you when the council next meets.” Varys bowed and glided off with his hands clasped together to whichever hole he resided in. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Robb stopped him. He paused. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Oh no you mistake me my lord, it truly isn’t. Truly isn’t. I don’t have any reason to try to lay you low. I haven’t even seen much… Well I have seen nothing. However my eyes, what they have seen isn’t incriminating. Just whispers floating in the air. Most people would presume a Stark would never break a vow.”

“My father did.”

“Ashara Dayne. Yes we’ve heard the rumors. Getting her with bastard then killing her brother The Sword of the Morning… Quite a double insult.”

“I haven’t… What?” Robb floundering. He’d never heard that. He knew his father defeated the greatest of the Kingsguard, that had always filled him with pride. This he hadn’t heard. “Ashara Dayne? I have never heard that name.”

“No?” Varys sounded curious that Robb didn’t know of what he spoke. “Perhaps its too sad a story. After defeating Ser Arthur he returned his famed sword to Starfall and Ashara sadly threw herself from the towers.”

“Right…” That winded Robb. He didn’t think it a lie. 

“Sorry to lay a trouble at your feet my lord. This maybe hard for you to believe,” Varys lowered his voice, barely audible. He rested his hands over the railing of the balcony and looked out onto the sprawling city. “We don’t know each other and my reputation is one of a sneak. It is a rotten image. I am aware of such things and I don’t need protecting from the truth. It would be hypocritical of me to deal in other’s truths and lives and create a false front for myself to live behind. So for you to trust me… Well. That would be unlikely. I do want what’s best for the realm. I truly do. I want peace and I want harmony. I don’t want war. I don’t want innocents,” he gestured over the city, “to bleed for some highborn game.”

“Is there a point to this?” Robb asked. He was still somewhat disarmed with this revelation about his father. He didn’t ask rudely, he was intrigued by the insight into what was being revealed willingly by the Spider.

“Yes. If I were to spread rumors or reveal half truths about young lords and ladies or in other cases young lords and other young lords, say taking their marriage vows as suggestions rather than vows, then the peace of the realm would suffer.”

“So you’re telling me; basically; that if what you’re hinting at is true,” Robb spoke carefully already taking on board what the master of whispers had told him about not giving things away without cause. “Then you wish to inform me that you will not do anything with this information. Provided that there is any truth to it. However in future I should be careful as other people if they knew of this alleged… Thing. Then I could be in trouble.”

“Yes my lord.”

“Very well, thank you Lord Varys.”

“No problem, oh and well done surviving Ser Crakehall. The man is a brute… Though word has come to me,” Varys stopped by the archway back into the corridor. “That Lord Burton Crakehall is less than pleased with the events of the Prince’s name day.”

“I would imagine so.”

“Yes I suppose killing the son would upset the father… Not all of my whispers are as insightful as others,” Varys bowed his head with hands still connected in front of his stomach hidden by his foreign looking robe. “Farewell.”

“Farewell.”

That wasn’t too bad. Provided what the man… Or Eunuch, had said was true. Though if it were a cunning lie to deceive him, which he couldn’t recognize due his naivety, he wouldn’t know if it were or no. However he did believe him and the upshots of that was a need for secrecy. Actually if what Varys said was true his late night trysts hadn’t been noticed it was more him out in public with Margaery. There was nothing untoward there. Well there was. Just not to an observer. 

Be most careful. Be more careful. He repeated this to himself over and over nodding his head with each repetition.

 

-M-

“It’s nothing to worry about,” she told Robb as they stood on the balcony overlooking the city. That balcony. “Varys isn’t a terrible man from what I understand. Littlefinger and the Queen are the bad ones. Besides no one has seen us do anything more than walk around together.”

“I suppose so.”

“Besides you’re a Stark, who would believe you would be unfaithful?” She asked flippantly immediately regretting saying it. Breaking his honor for her was one thing but making reference to it was probably a mistake. He kissed her under the heart tree. He broke his marriage vows in front of his gods… Maybe he hadn’t even considered that. “Sorry.”

“No it’s ok. You’re right, it just seems that hiding behind my family reputation would be extra immoral. On top of the immorality. I don’t know.”

“Immorality? I haven’t thought about it like that.”

“No?”

“No. No one is hurt. Well… No, no one really is. Provided no one finds out then no one is hurt. We both get what we want…” 

“Yeah,” he said staring off into space. Margaery waited, a little anxious for his response. She had just got him, she couldn’t lose him to some crippling inner voice and monologue which forced them both back into unhappiness. Come on Robb! She willed him on inside her head. “Well…” He started. “I’m not feeling guilty about what we have done.”

“Have?” She questioned the past tense. 

“Are.”

“Sure.”

“I’m feeling guilty that I don’t feel guilty, do you understand?”

“Not really.”

“No? I feel I ought to, but I just don’t. My wife is being colder than normal, and I have nothing to say to her and she nothing to me…”

“Her brother tried to murder you in front of the court?” She added. Thinking helping him towards the conclusion she wanted. She’d rather not think about Myrcella Baratheon. 

“That too, I mislike her family. Not too bothered about it either. While there is nothing but ice between she and I… Between you and I… I think I’ve spoken more with you in an afternoon than with my own wife throughout an entire marriage.”

“I’m pretty amazing,” she nodded trying now to add levity. 

“Modest too,” he finally cracked a smile that evening as she nodded in agreement. “We just need to be careful,” he concluded. “Never mind all this bullshit about me torturing myself over something I don’t intend to fix.”

“I’m not sure I like the term fix.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m teasing you…”

“I know I was trying to negate your teasing by making you feel bad for doing so.”

“Humph! I was going to tell you to meet me here tomorrow as Renly is off with Loras and I have a free chamber but I won’t now.”

“You have anyway…”

“Aw Robb,” she reached over and cupped his chin and squeezed it like one would to a young child. “You’re lucky you’re handsome.”

***

“Lord Renly I need a… Oh sorry my lady,” Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King had knocked on the chamber door and Renly had called back ‘come.’ It was a surprise to see the Hand in person. He was such a hard worker her was always absent from every event she had attended. “I was aware you were here. A word Lord Renly,” he beckoned her husband over. 

“It’s fine my lords, I’ll leave, find something to busy myself with,” Margaery offered. She felt like was suffocated in the confined chambers. In silence. Especially considering she had planned a nice evening with Robb later on and was on tenterhooks waiting for the dark to roll over the city. 

She had nowhere to go. Her brother was training his jousting somewhere. If a war did begin then for her brother’s sake she hoped that whoever the enemy were, were willing to ride in a fixed line at each other at the sound of a trumpet. Otherwise he might not be able to cope. 

She found her feet taking her to the godswood. It didn’t intimidate her as her first time. The first time she had been trailing Robb looking for him. This time it was different. She knew what was inside. It gave a sense aloneness, which was impossible to find in the Red Keep. It was the only place which one could be alone here. 

Margaery still had the blood red flower of Dragon Breath in one of her drawers in her room. It was unique to this place. Making it that extra bit special. 

The heart tree loomed above her. She hadn’t considered the seven gods much in her life. Margaery wasn’t too sure if they existed or not. Her grandmother certainly didn’t whereas her father and mother certainly did. She wasn’t too sure however there had been no power or feeling in any of the septs she had visited. There was definitely something coming out of the heart tree.

It was probably just the spooky face carved into the trunk. She held a hand up close to the weeping eyes but came short of actually touching the face. Best not to, she thought holding her hand out not touching not retracting for several moments. Transfixed by the eyes. Trees ought not to have eyes nor leaves which looked like hands reaching to grab the worshipper. 

People said it was impossible for a man to lie in front of a heart tree.

“I’m from Sunspear,” she said before instantly regretting doing so. Her skin crawled and Margaery needed to get out of the godswood. Fleeing from a tree wasn’t her proudest moment. The North truly was a different place wasn’t it? 

***

“You shouldn’t have lied to a heart tree… I mean every peasant knows that!”

“I don’t like this, I’m supposed to be the high status one mocking you,” Margaery whined like a child and stamped her foot for dramatic effect. Robb scoffed and walked to her balcony and stared out. 

“Your view is worse than mine,” he concluded staring out sipping from the wine cup she had prepared for them both. Margaery used that chance of him being captivated to slip out of her dress, leaving just her smallclothes. It was was much easier to undress a man than to take off the intricate ties and linkings of a bodice than pull a tunic over one’s head. 

“Empty boast,” she taunted walking up behind Robb and wrapping her arms around his waist linking them in front of his stomach. Having to lean up on tiptoes to rest her chin on his shoulder. He winced but made no sign of needing to move. That was the shoulder which was freshly cut. “Don’t whine.”

“I didn’t.”

“I’m saying don’t,” she sighed as if he were an idiot before he could complain she kissed him lightly on the cheek. He turned his face and they awkwardly kissed in the strange position, but she didn’t let him turn though. Instead Margaery let her hand wander. One she needed to hold his stomach to indicate she didn’t want him to move, the other she trailed down his waist and over his trousers. Touching him through the material, Robb made a very low, brief growl and she responded by nipping at the muscle of his neck.

She didn’t tease for more than a moment, being forward instead, if they had the briefest of times together at opportune moments there was no point squandering it. 

Pushing past his waistband she had to smile to herself finding him excited to her palm as she wrapped her hand around him and stroked his length. Robb tried to turn again, she couldn’t physically stop him, but gripped his stomach telling him nonverbally to stay still. What her brother had told her she remembered and wasn’t going to let passion over take her this time.

Holding his stomach and his length, fondling him, she walked backwards towards the bed, getting him to shuffle his feet backwards in time with her. Just like when they lay together they found a joint rhythm immediately, moving as one. When the edge of the bed knocked into her upper thigh she moved quickly. Shifting around in front of him not letting go of him she pushed him back onto the bed. He bounced on the mattress and began crawling back on his elbows up the sheets. Margaery pulled off his boots and flung them carelessly away and his trousers. She ripped his smallclothes, and tore the fabric. Before Robb could complain she was pulling off her shift and joining him. 

Margaery took him in hand again and straddled his thighs and guided him into her as she lowered down. He had his shirt over his head as he entered her under her lead. She bit down on her lip, getting past the minute sliver of pain which was followed by pure pleasure as he penetrated her, or she penetrated herself with him.

Slowly she was able to build a slow rhythm at first, looking down at Robb, who was just staring up at her adoringly in between low pants. As it got easier to move faster, she leaned down letting her hair fall loose over his face and chest, covering his shoulders. His hands came to her chest and grasped her breasts. Letting out a lustful moan, Margaery was able to straighten up, holding her hands over his on her breasts making him squeeze, bouncing up and down on him. The moans became cries and then sobs as she could no longer hold his hands in place.

Her mind was swimming, she was moving mindlessly. Her mind was gone, spinning with stars as from her centre pulses of bliss radiated getting harder and stronger until she went limp on top of him and just collapsed on his chest. Panting for air and unable to focus she just lay on him. Her chest rising and falling in time with his.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His voice penetrated the cloud of joy which was inhabiting. He sounded a bit cocky. 

“Shut up,” she barely spoke, into his chest muffled by her loose hair over her and her lips pressed to his chest sucking for air against his warm flesh. He was still in her and when he attempted to shift she could feel him and made pathetic whimpers. “Wait,” she said as he tried to pull out of her. “No, no, no.” She leaned up and waved a finger back and forth.

Robb looked a little confused for a moment before emitting his own growl as she began the rhythmic up and down again. Able to go straight to a quick speed on him, her arse cheeks slapping down on his thighs. Robb’s hands came to rest on her shoulders and pull her down so they were chest to chest and was able to control her momentum. Forcing her back and letting her naturally come back up before forcing her down again. 

Far less time passed until once again she was at her peak, finishing for the second time, but Robb didn’t notice or care as he carried on and for a third time in quick succession Margaery came undone staggering down on top of him. Making whimpering, unintelligible noises. She barely recognized him slipping out of her and laying her peacefully and tenderly down on the bed next to him. 

“Feeling alright?” Robb asked smugly. Margaery just made a noise from the bottom of her throat in acknowledgement. He just laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder and held her tight to him. Tethered back to the world everything came flooding back. 

“Don’t be so cocky,” she mumbled pulling the sheets up, they were cool against her burning hot skin. She rested her chin on his chest to look up at him and smile. “I feel nice,” she said simply.

“I’m glad.”

“Don’t be so sombre Stark,” Margaery said seriously while with a hand reached down to grasp him again. Robb sucked in his breath in surprise as she began to play with him, stroking and teasing his length to excitement again. Which took no time. She remembered the chat she had with her brother and the advice he had given her. It made her nervous as she threw Robb one last sly smile and disappeared down under the sheets.

Don’t be nervous she told herself. If he couldn’t finish inside in worry of getting her pregnant that was no reason he shouldn’t be able to finish at all.

Holding his length at the base Margaery opened her mouth and took him inside her lips and then her tongue, swirling it, like Loras said, over the tip as he hand worked the shaft. She sucked on him and used her tongue in turn pumping the base as she went. Novicely. The reaction from Robb spurred her on. Making groans his hands came to rest on the back of her head. The faster her hand worked and the further and deeper she was able to take him in her mouth the harder his hands held her, his breath coming out raspy.

Short, quick, low rumbles came from Robb and she felt him throb in her hand and on her lips and he finished in her mouth. Not even thinking she swallowed, expecting it to be disgusting it was just a shock she couldn’t register in the moment. That part of it hadn’t been discussed with Loras. 

Margaery crawled up the bed and rested on Robb’s chest again. This time it was his turn to look a bit loopy. Was that how she looked when she had climaxed? Just dazed and blissful with a dopey smile on her face? She was happy he had finally been able to climax with her without worry about a bastard.

He stirred and pulled her up to kiss him. 

“Wow,” he mumbled, barely able to find his voice.

“Feeling alright?” She asked turning the question on him. 

“Uh-huh,” he kissed her once more and squeezed her against him. His eyelids were fluttering, having trouble staying awake. It would be the responsible thing to do to not let him sleep, but she was spent too. She would wake. Surely she would. Just a little rest for an hour or so. Then she could wake him up, perhaps quickly enjoy each other one last time for the night and let him return to his solar. 

Stifling a yawn and snuggling her face against his bare chest she nodded to herself. That would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Euron: I am the Storm. The First and Last!
> 
> Rodrik: Are you the last Storm?
> 
> Euron: Yes, the first and last.
> 
> Rodrik: Look, *sighes* are you a storm?
> 
> Euron: Well I'm a storm in the form of man...
> 
> Rodrik: A man in the form of a storm?
> 
> Euron: A man.
> 
> Rodrik: First and last storm?
> 
> Euron: No I have no evidence to base when the first storm was as it was thousands of years before I was born.
> 
> Rodrik: The last?
> 
> Euron: No... 
> 
> Rodrik: Good, now let's have Asha as our Queen.


	9. -9-

-T-

“We could get to King’s Landing by late this evening if we ride hard my lord…”

“I agree we could… We could have arrived this morning if we rode hard. However we don’t have any need to rush captain do we?” Tyrion asked his guardsman. “A warm bed may not appeal as much to you as a soldier, however I am not a soldier and I prefer a warm bed. Some ale. Some wine. Maybe a girl if one is available.”

“Very well my lord,” Captain Vylarr mumbled dispassionately. 

Tyrion rather misliked the man. There were rather a lot of men who disliked taking orders from a dwarf, he could understand that, he could even accept that provided they did as he bid without complaint. A scowl was acceptable. However there were those who clearly threw their support behind other siblings of his. Mainly one of them. His dear sister who hated him more than she hated any enemy or rival House Lannister might have. They were not so polite to him.

Still he would much rather put up with the hate and have a warm bed and a warm meal than his cock and balls sore from bouncing up and down on a horse for any more time than was strictly necessary.

The biggest advantage he held in life was his family’s money. No that wasn’t true it was his mind. However Tyrion wouldn’t be able use his mind if not shielded by the Lannister wealth. 

Getting off his horse always made him somewhat proud of himself. It was a long jump but it would be hard to maintain even a meagre level of respect if a man had to pluck him from his saddle like a young lady. 

Whistling was a good mask when surrounded by disgruntled guards to hide any awkwardness. He needed to find a bodyguard. One who he actually liked. Who might drink with him. Not so drunk he couldn’t defend Tyrion but still be jolly. Maybe when he reached King’s Landing he would find such a paragon. Well a renegade… Something in between.

Every head turned as he walked into the Inn. The Imp was the name he was known by. He didn’t hate it as much as he let on. It was more a sign of disrespect. If he allowed himself be disrespected openly then he wouldn’t be much of a Lannister. However he was certain he heard a trace of a whisper of ‘imp.’ 

Scanning the Inn there were no women he could procure. It was unlikely that some small tavern near Antlers would, but it was always a hope which made the ride a bit easier. Dreaming off to some imagined whore. 

“Ale and meat and a room,” he told the barkeep. 

“We only have one room left my lord.”

“That’s fine my men came sleep in the stables.”

He felt the disdain radiating off Captain Vylarr, he thought that his position meant more than that. Tough shit. He would instantly join Cersei’s retinue when they arrived at King’s Landings and they were so close that it didn’t matter if he hated him. Putting the man up in a nice room for the night wouldn’t soothe that relationship

***

“Wake up.”

“Fuck off,” Tyrion mumbled, his head pounding with too much ale. He had fallen asleep on the book he was reading. “Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off,” he mumbled feeling the drool coming from his mouth. He was rather indignant about the fact one his guardsmen had the utter gall to wake him. 

“Another constructive night?”

He rolled over and blinked his eyes open to see his brother smiling down at him. That smug look of judgement, superiority and ultimately warmth which would annoy him from literally anyone else in the world but was glad to see from his brother. 

“Depends on your definition of constructive,” Tyrion said holding his head and sitting up preparing for the inevitable sense of vertigo and sickness which was coming. “Fuck me.”

“No thank you,” Jaime replied pouring a cupful from a jug and downing it then pouring another and handing it to Tyrion. Who accepted it and sipped. Water? He spat it out. Poured the water onto the floor and found a half-full, maybe more like quarter full jug of wine left from the previous evening and poured that. It went down hard, but a second cup went down a bit easier from his experience. 

“Vylarr is sleeping on the stable floor?”

“He should be up and feeding the horses by now,” Tyrion replied unashamed of the hidden accusation in that. “Anyway, why are you here? I mean of course I can’t complain seeing my beloved brother is always a treat but shouldn’t you be protecting the King?”

“Barristan Selmy is guarding the King. The man dislikes me somewhat.”

“I wonder why,” Tyrion smirked before quickly scowling as the pain flooded back. “Still that shouldn’t excuse you of your duties.”

“I wouldn’t push me away if I were you. I’m your only friend,” Jaime told him cockily. 

“True. Though equally I’m your only friend so we’re both pretty much stuck with each other.”

“No, that isn’t quite as true dear brother, I have Cersei. You forget, she may hate you and you her but she and I get on.”

“I’m not sure I want to get on with our sister in the manner you do,” Tyrion shot back quickly. “Besides I don’t think you actually like her. You like parts of her, but would you drink with her? Jape with her? Does she have a sense of humor?”

“Laughing is a rarity in the Red Keep I would be the first to admit.”

“If I had a cunt and tits instead of my impressive cock you won’t talk to Cersei even again.”

“That’s… Fuck. Why did I even come out here to fetch you?” Jaime made a face and shook his head.

“That was my question dear brother, it’s a good thing I have some brains otherwise we would be thickest generation of Lannisters ever,” Tyrion said pouring the rest of the wine down his throat before looking around for his boots and if possible more booze. “You can swing a sword, Cersei is nice to look at, if one ignores the evil behind her eyes and I’ve read a book in my life. We’re like one third of a perfect person.”

“Perhaps you’re comfortable with the idea of being less than a whole person but I’m not. Ready?” Jaime asked already opening the door getting Tyrion to move. 

“So what’s happening in the capitol? Our King is older and what’s changed?” 

“Well you’re coming instead of father.”

“He said he couldn’t bear dealing with Robert, especially on a name day. Something about the man slapping him on the back too much,” Tyrion explained. “Will he notice?”

“Father?”

“No… Obviously not. He knows he’s not coming, I mean Robert. I have our families’ gift”

“If you shave your head, grow some mutton chops and stand on my shoulders and we wear a long cape he might be drunk enough to think you’re father.”

Tyrion guffawed, regretting his laughter.

“Oh, no, don’t make me laugh until at least late afternoon, my head hurts a lot.”

“It was probably better for you to come, father doesn’t drink, you can at least join in with the King’s debauchery.”

“I like to think myself an expert in that field. However,” Tyrion paused to mount his horse. Jaime waited patiently before hopping up on his own far larger destrier. “I don’t think anyone can match Robert… Maybe that mad fire wielding priest.”

“Thoros?”

“That’s the chap. So how was my nephew’s name day?”

“As you would expect.”

“I didn’t expect one of father’s bannermen to have his face cut open by Robb Stark.”

“No. No one could have predicted that.”

“No one eh? That I don’t believe.”

“I’m a Kingsguard and all that so I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do but I shan’t press.”

Jaime just made a low noise of disapproval. They rode next to each other in silence for a while before Jaime spoke again.

“Do you remember when we were kids and…”

***

It was a sad state of affairs the best part of his journey to King’s Landing would have been the short half day ride between Antlers and the city reminiscing and joking around with Jaime. Tyrion reflected on this as he took to his chambers and put aside his books and pointed to a servant where his clothes went. Now came the grind. The grind of the city. 

Tyrion knew how to play the game. He knew it and knew he was smarter than most men… And women for that matter. Though since his last visit new players had arrived. Robb Stark was married to his niece. Renly Baratheon married this Tyrell girl who’s fat father had brought the entire family seemingly to the capitol with him. 

Stark would most likely just resent being here. Wanting to rush back past the Neck and hide in Winterfell and only leave the North if absolutely necessary.

The Tyrells however, they wanted power. They could field an army almost as large as his father’s. They had pockets almost as deep as his father’s. Being second place was rarely enough for people. Being the strongest house meant being on a podium. Being on that podium meant all the eyes had to be aware of you. The Martells and the Greyjoys only came into some people’s minds when directly affected by them. However House Lannister loomed ever large. 

Envious eyes rarely stayed envious. 

Time for a drink. Another few drinks. The problem Tyrion also had with the capitol.

There were lots of problems with the capitol. So less of also and more of one of the many.

Anyway. Problem.

The problem which he was worried of that evening was brothels. He enjoyed a brothel more than the average man, which was quite a lot, so he really enjoyed a brothel. However he didn’t much care for Petyr Baelish. A man who would do anything to gain power. He would kill all his friends to use their skeletons as makeshift ladders to climb up, if he had any friends that were. Alcohol didn’t come with Littlefinger as whores did. 

“Tyrion! Tyrion Lannister!” A voice called out.

Another one of the litany of problems in the Red Keep was so many important people in one place meant it was hard to walk around unaccosted. So often you went for a short walk to the privy and ran into a lord, a knight, a lady and ambassador and had shit your trousers and pissed down your leg as you spoke of the weather for the fourth time. 

Renly Baratheon strode over to him. In his fine, stag emblazoned doublet, he looked the most like a King out of the three Baratheon brothers. Tall, strong and handsome. He walked with the straight backed posture Tyrion would never dream of being able achieve. Shame he was last born and not first. He would be a good King, he had always thought so. He had a regal disposition.

“Renly, good to see you,” Tyrion reached up to extend a hand which was shaken firmly.

A benefit to him being King is unlike Robert he had his love too. He had the Knight of the Flowers, in the worst kept secret of the Kingdoms, he wouldn’t have openly breached his marriage vows like his eldest brother. 

“Your father is coming too?”

“No, just me I fear.”

“I’m glad, no disrespect meant but considering Robert is holding some massive party I don’t think Tywin would in his element.”

“True it’s right up my alley,” he grinned back. “I passed through the godswood on the way, I thought it best to pass that route while some animals still inhabit them.”

“Ha!” Renly boomed laughing. Tyrion had to join his laugh, he had an infectious laugh. “Yes, I fear the deer, stag and boars won’t recover until Robert’s next name day.”

“They could import the food from Essos?”

“It would go rotten…”

“Not if they preserved it in alcohol.”

“Ha! You’re a smart man Tyrion, that would be a great thing for Robert, food which got him drunk.”

“I think I need to rethink my name day gift now.”

Renly laughed again and patted him on the shoulder farewell. At least he was the first person he ran into. Rather than one of the miserable and unpleasant cunts who made up the majority of the Red Keep’s residents. Speaking of such people he had to swallow his reserves and go see his nieces, nephews and sister.

Maybe a couple of drinks first.

 

-S-

He rolled his top teeth over his back teeth. It was a good mechanism to keep the rage inside. It would be improper to let it out. However listening to that up jumped whore monger Littlefinger brag about all the coin he had made for the city was infuriating. 

“You’re supposed to make money Baelish,” Stannis finally let his anger free. “You ought not to need a pat on the head nor applause like a juggler for doing your job.”

“No offence intended my lord,” Baelish smiled that cocky insincere smile which only a man who hadn’t seen combat could use. “I felt I was just reporting if I was indulging myself it was unintentional.”

Varys. Stannis refused to think the man a lord. He certainly wasn’t. Scoffed. The man misliked Littlefinger. Where a lot of people in this awful city would find common cause that wasn’t the sort of man he was, instead he disliked them both. Honorless. Only fulfilling duty when it was helpful for their needs. Mace Tyrell was wobbling with his fat childish excitement as he did. Pycelle was huffing around as if anyone believed he was as infirm as he let on. Stark was quiet. His brother just smirked.

If it weren’t for himself and Jon Arryn the realm would be in a lot of trouble. Not that it wasn’t with his elder brother’s whimsical overspending. Just far more trouble. 

“Well that concludes this meeting I think,” the hand announced. Stark was out of the door before anyone could blink and the rest shuffled off at varying speeds. “So Stannis,” Jon turned to him when the door closed behind that faking mummer who called himself Grand Maester. “I fear your suspicions are somewhat justified.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“No? I would,” Jon rubbed his face. The man was tired. Overworked and had been for seventeen years. Stannis disapproved of Robert’s treatment of his hand. “I would be surprised and saddened.”

“Saddened or glad doesn’t come into it,” Stannis replied. “If it is true it is true and the consequences will be what they are.”

“Sometimes, sometimes I honestly wish I had your cold logic Stannis, it would make this job easier. Other times I think it might be a negative quality which would suck any enjoyment out of life.”

“I’ll leave such worries to you and your conscience it isn’t my business.”

Jon Arryn just looked at him for a long moment, before nodding in a reserved and resigned agreement. 

“Well there is a blacksmith who has an apprentice who appear to be of the same ilk as the others.”

“Black hair?”

“Brown eyes too.”

“We must visit him.”

“We should be more covert Stannis, people unknown to us will notice our behaviors.”

“Nonsense Jon, you are the second of the realm and I’m the King’s brother, we can do as we like. The law is on our side, our respective rank and positions mean that we needn’t skulk in the shadows.”

Jon sighed and sighed once more.

“Very well we’ll do things your way. I know it would be a waste of breath to try to change your mind”

 

-T-

“I’m glad you’re here uncle,” Myrcella smiled at him. She was much taller than him now. A very pretty girl. Not stunning as her mother perhaps had once been but kinder and sweeter. Tyrion still saw the girl as a child. Yet she was married to the young wolf. He ought to readjust that picture he had of her in his head. 

If Myrcella was growing up her younger brother Tommen wasn’t. He had his litany of cats still and seemed to care about nothing more. With most children it would be unfortunate if their mother had a favorite. In the case of the prince and princess they were very lucky. Joffrey was as colossal of a cunt as it was possible to be, Cersei having poured her bile into him. 

“Thank you dear, I am glad I’m here too. There is only so much looking at Lannisport one can do in between cups full of wine. One needs to look at the Blackwater instead.”

“In between cups full of wine,” Cersei said snarkily. 

“Most likely yes,” Tyrion agreed ignoring her tone. “So how is your marriage shaping up?”

“Fine,” Myrcella said with a shrug.

“I hear Stark won a melee, killed a boar of a man and is apparently a looker too boot.”

“A Northern savage,” Cersei growled. “He cut an eye from the Strongboar one week then kills him the next.”

“From what I hear he didn’t have much choice,” Tyrion commented dryly. Even if he was only in the capitol for a brief time he would at try to neutralize some of the poison Cersei sprayed everywhere with little regard for its consequences or effects on others. “He hardly delights in violence.”

“How would you know?!” She snarled at him, fixing him with that glare she had been using to shoot daggers with since he was young enough to remember. “Though I shouldn’t be shocked. Of course you take the side of anyone but your family.”

“I’m taking the side of reason. He is your good-son, so therefore your family.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“He is also your daughter’s husband so perhaps saying naught but horrid things about him isn’t wise is it?” He said a little more softly, looking at Myrcella as he spoke, she was fixated on the floor not looking at either of them. Deep in thought. 

“He didn’t return to our chambers until early this morning,” the princess spoke up quietly. 

“See! See!” Cersei leapt on that, she rushed over to her daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder. Only being a mother when it was a chance to be nasty. “Men are nearly all the same.”

“Oh stop it sister,” Tyrion dismissed her after a few deep mouthfuls of wine. He hadn’t been prepared for that. “The boy is a Stark. I’d believe he was out walking the castle, probably trying to shake off the nightmares of his first kill before I believed he was at a whore house.”

“Old Ned has a bastard does he not?” Cersei asked smugly.

This was a strange situation for Tyrion to be in. Not in command of the facts and wrong footed. He didn’t like being wrong footed nor outsmarted. Especially by Cersei who thought herself smart, thought herself devious. When in reality she was cruel and able to be devious but always short sightedly. 

“One from a war, not since he returned to his wife, the Starks are known to be honorable. Don’t try to ruin your daughter’s marriage over one strange occurrence.”

“And if he were out often, he didn’t come back to his wife often? Then what?”

“Then we might have reason to be suspicious but since that scenario only exists in your mind then we needn’t worry do we?”

“What would you know?”

“Don’t let your experience sour everyone else's,” Tyrion said so low only Cersei could hear. “Don’t worry my dear,” he spoke up again and directed this to Myrcella who looked up at him to give him a tiny smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me I have some business with a jug of wine.”

***

“I would agree with you,” Jaime nodded. He was barely drinking. That didn’t bother Tyrion. He just wanted to talk to his brother. He knew he didn’t have desire to get shitfaced as he did. “Stark seems to much of a dullard to have some affair or whore mongering.” 

“Would it bother you if he was?” Tyrion asked. He knew Myrcella was his son. He knew he knew that. Any reference to that fact was always treated with awkwardness and anger. 

“I don’t know honestly.”

Jaime completely divorced himself of the fact that he was a parent. 

“Robert does it constantly.”

“He makes me stand guard as he does so.”

“Not the nicest of men is he?”

“Are there many nice men? Most of the nice men are killed by the nasty ones.”

“I would say it was rather nice of you to kill Aerys.”

“Ha!” Jaime snorted. “Out of all the words and things I’ve heard used to describe what I did that day ‘nice,’ is probably the most out of place.”

“I would say it was.”

“I would too, not too many people agree with that opinion. Those who have benefitted most from my… Niceness,” Jamie laughed, “even they don’t think it was too nice.”

“At least people are scared of you, people say rather nasty things of me, but I can do little to them. Maybe have my guards who resent guarding me rough them up. Or threaten them with you.”

“Do you do that?”

“More than you would think.”

“Right, I would have liked to give consent.”

“I don’t care if you consent or not. Now Robert’s name day. Will there be a joust?”

“Yes.”

“A melee?”

“Yes.”

“Archery?”

“Yes.”

“It seems poor form I have to even bring a gift from our family considering father is most likely bankrolling this.”

“Most likely. I would have thought you would have known?”

“No. Father doesn’t seem to trust me with the inner workings of our economy.”

“I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

“I’m sure I will, don’t look so sullen it will mean Cersei is free and the Red Keep is emptied for an afternoon.”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t think I will.”

 

-S-

He loathed the city. The Red Keep might be a viper’s nest but at least the inhabitants weren’t so bloody lecherous and loud and uncouth. Two Baratheon guards and two Arryn guards were sweeping the area around Stannis and the Hand of the King.

“I’ve sent my own maester off to get this book of yours,” Jon told him.

“The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms,” Stannis rattled off.

“Yes, that’s the one, I’m glad you wrote that down. It is apparently a gigantic and ponderous tome.”

“You needn’t read the whole thing.”

“No, I suppose I don’t.”

The Street of Steel. What a jumped up name for blacksmiths who catered ludacris designs to jumped up knights who had never heard the screams and roar of battle. Tobho Mott’s shopfront was the most egregious of all these stores. Ebony and carvings. This man spent too much time on appearances clearly.

No one was inside when Stannis and Jon entered. Jon Arryn was contented to stand and wait at the counter. Stannis was not. He picked up a gauntlet on display and slammed it down on the table to gain attention. 

“Welcome, welcome!” A bald man came rushing from the forge at the back, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. What sort of self-respecting smithy cares about how he looks? It annoyed Stannis, a smithy should be covered in dust, grime and soot. Not silks. “My lords.”

“I am Jon Arryn and this Lord Stannis Baratheon.”

“My lords,” he bowed sycophantically. “You have chosen correctly to patronize my business, I can tint steel wit…”

“We’re not here for that nonsense,” Stannis dismissed him angrily. “You have an apprentice yes?”

“A couple my lord.”

“I want to see them, bring them forth,” Stannis demanded. He could feel Jon Arryn shift uncomfortable by his side. The man wasn’t one for such brusqueness. However the matter at stake didn’t warrant a soft hand. It was important, the most important issue in King’s Landing, not something for pussyfooting around with courtly speech.

The blacksmith looked agape for a moment before nodding and sullenly walking back to his forge. 

“You could speak to people with a degree of civility Stannis.”

“I could,” he agreed. 

Mott returned with two boys. One had ginger hair and was spotty, like a disgusting teenager. The other was strong, large and with the black hair and brown eyes they had been expecting. 

“You,” Stannis pointed at the red headed lad. “You’re not needed, go back to work.”

Looking a bit taken aback but relieved the boy bowed and shuffled away hurriedly. 

“What is your name son?” Jon Arryn said kindly. “Don’t worry you’re not in any trouble.”

“Gendry my lord,” the lad replied. There was a disrespectful tone to his voice which irked Stannis. 

“Now my friend and I would like to ask you a couple of questions, then you can be back to work, no harm done,” Jon explained.

“Who is your mother boy?” Stannis asked. 

“I don’t know…”

“Nothing? I find that hard to believe.”

“She died when I was little lord she…”

“It’s my lord, that is how you address me and the hand,” Stannis corrected. 

“She died when I was little my lord she had blonde hair, she sung to me sometimes,” Gendry told them.

“Anything else?”

“Not that I can remember lo… My lord,” the apprentice glanced up from the floor to shoot Stannis a defiant look before back to floor.

“Good, we’re done here.”

Jon Arryn was thanking the two blacksmiths while Stannis was already striding out into the street. 

“I have to admit Stannis,” Jon joined him, “this is looking more suspicious. I shall take a look at this tome and will get back to you as soon as possible with any salient information.”

“Take care my lord.”

 

-T-

Waiting around to meet people was a lot easier when one was half the height of most men. It meant Tyrion was harder to avoid if someone was avoiding him. On this occasion he wanted to met his niece’s husband. His good-nephew? Was that a term? Robb Stark at any extent. His family didn’t like the Starks and especially Ned Stark. However his family didn’t like him that much so he had always been interested in finding out whether these family squabbles were worth holding or not. 

“Lord Stark?” Tyrion called as a sweaty, tall, shirtless man walked past his hiding place. The man stopped and looked down at him. Those wounds… Probably from the Strongboar. 

“Yes?”

“I’m Tyrion Lannister,” he held out a hand which Robb reached out and squeezed a little too hard. It was fine, he was used to the alpha male nonsense of young lords who dreamed of being warriors. Yes well done you’re stronger than a dwarf. 

“I assumed so. Visiting the capitol then my lord?”

“It would appear so,” Tyrion replied to receive a grimace and a dirty look. “I thought I would introduce myself.”

“Well you’ve done that.”

“I suppose I have.”

They stood awkwardly and in silence for a heartbeat before Robb shrugged and walked off pulling his shirt back on. What a brusque young man. He was a Stark out of the snow, which might be the reason for his poor mood or he may have recognized the name Lannister and instantly formed an opinion of him. That was the problem with Tyrion’s attempts to try to break the mould of his family’s view of others. He himself was intricately burdened by other people’s perceptions of his name.

That or Robb Stark was just a miserable Northern cunt. One or the other.

Well that went so well, Tyrion thought, that he might as well find the other new family in King’s Landing. Then when he had done that he could focus on being drunk and being disliked by everyone. What a bloody joy King’s Landing was.

***

“I had heard you were a lecherous, drink sozzled scamp,” Olenna Redwyne peered at him across the stone table of the rose garden. “How disappointing to have you come here and be so polite and welcoming.”

“I’m afraid I often disappoint.”

“Well we all have that problem do we not? With great names comes great reputations to which one might find it nearly impossible to fulfil in the eyes of others.”

“True,” Tyrion said slowly. That was a wise thing to say. He had heard of the Queen of Thorns. Heard she was rude and barbed most of her conversation. Not that there was wisdom to her. However if one was rude about the foppish phonies who inhabited the upper echelons of Westerosi one ought to have developed a level of self-awareness. Also if someone had been on the end of one of her cutting put downs they might not want to rely her wisdom. She somewhat reminded him of his father. “Though with all these new marriages I thought it best to introduce myself, even if it is a disappointment.”

“Yes, yes, it’s getting very incestous isn’t it?”

“I suppose so, though such comparisons wouldn’t sit well with the King, any reference to the Targaryens makes him boil with rage,” Tyrion said dryly. Or my own siblings at that. Lest they exchange a knowing look and the person who referenced incest had unwittingly and unknowingly made an enemy for life.

“I was meant to marry one of those weasel faced ponces, I can take his point. Ah! Now the reason you presumably came wasn’t to meet some old bag who will surely be dead soon, it was to meet my granddaughter was it not?” Olenna gestured off into the distance. She had a better view of the garden path than he, but presumed that meant Margaery Tyrell was coming.

She was a pretty girl, he thought when she rounded the corner to the gazebo. Not so stunning men’s jaws would fall off like… Well his sister used to be or Arianne Martell was… Apparently. However when she sat down he saw the source of the rumors of her beauty had spread due to her eyes. They twinkled. Huh. She spoke politely to him just as any other one of the assortment of highborn ladies he met had done so. 

Tyrion would have thought her a dullard, with no personality if it weren’t for her eyes. Hinting at something else going on inside her head, something she wasn’t letting on. Realizing he wasn’t going to get anything from this encounter, other than perhaps hearing something amusing and cutting from Olenna Redwyne.

***

“My lord of Lannister, how are you?” Petyr Baelish sprung from a corridor. Tyrion’s heart sunk. Though if he himself had uninvitedly ambushed Robb Stark, for the all good that did, he couldn’t be too sour if someone else did the same to him.

Littlefinger, one of the only brothel owners he had met who he truly despised. 

“Lord Baelish.”

“Will you be requiring a lady this evening?” He asked with a knowing smirk which said ‘you know you do, and I am the best at supplying that particular service.’ 

“No I fear I shan’t, I have to dine with my family.”

“An honor I’m sure.”

Petyr Baelish had an incredible talent for being insolent and sarcastic without causing offense too blatantly. 

“A necessity.”

“A thing can be both. I hope you do consider my wares during your visit.”

“Actually Lord Baelish I do have a question for you,” Tyrion remembered suddenly. 

“I’m here to help in anyway I possibly can,” he lied flawlessly.

“Have you had any visitors to your brothels who are out of the ordinary recently?” Tyrion asked.

“Strange you ask, the Queen, the Hand and the Master of Ships have all asked the same question.”

“And what did you tell them?”

“The answer to their question, anyway I shan’t hold you up any longer my lord, enjoy your evening,” Baelish smirked infuriatingly and strolled off holding that huge book of his to his chest.

“Wanker,” Tyrion mumbled to himself as he continued on his journey.

 

-M-

Margaery held her eyes closed tight and bit down hard on her lip, rolling her head side to side and stifling moans. She had one hand tied up in the sheets clawing them into a pool the other buried in Robb’s hair as his head buried in between her thighs. She used her hold of his curly hair to rub and grind his face side to side hitting a sweet spot perfectly. 

Falling into just being able to murmur his name over and over Margaery reached her climax letting out a shudder and a final tremor and gasp before falling limp the wave of relaxation and bliss crashing over her. She tapped Robb on the head like one would a child who had done a good job.

He pulled himself up next to her, pulling up the sheets as he went. Not quite back to reality yet Margaery just moved from instinct back into his body as he held her close. 

“Hey,” she mumbled finally feeling ready to shuffle around in his arms so they were face to face. She kissed him quickly before resting her forehead against his, catching her breath.

“Hey,” he chuckled.

“How long do we have?”

“Not long, I don’t want to be gone too long. Myrcella’s family dinners could last all night or a couple hours, depending on if the Imp manages to rile them up or not.”

“It’s probably safe to assume him will then. I met him today.”

“Same.”

“Oh really?” Margaery asked actually interested, they hadn’t really had much chance to speak. Instead using their sliver of time they had to the best effect they could. Which had involved tearing at each other’s clothes and jumping straight into bed. 

“I didn’t say much to him. Just confirmed who I was then left. He is a Lannister after all… Also I was exhausted from training,” Robb told her.

“Oh I spoke to him, he came to the rose garden and was with my grandmother when I arrived for lunch. We just exchanged pleasantries, nothing more.”

“He loves drinking, reading and whoring, so I doubt we will have to see that much more of him,” Robb said. She nodded, that was true. “I best get off then,” he sighed pained. As did she. It was a shame but it was better they got this time together than nothing. Being greedy and reckless had led to Robb leaving her chamber just before daybreak. Suspicions would be raised with repeated absences. They had discussed it at length on how to proceed. 

Admiring his body stretching out as he got his clothes back on from the various places around the room where she had flung them she made herself comfortable under the sheets. When he glanced over at her she smiled lewdly and even winked. He still blushed. Which she couldn’t understand how he could still do that after they had been as intimate as possible with each other.

It was endearing. 

“Shit,” he grumbled as he pulled on his boots almost tripping as he was bending over to force them on. Repressing a giggle Margaery sat up in the bed, fully naked as he was fully clothed, still he averted his eyes a little. She leaned up to kiss him goodbye. They kissed quickly and chastely at first but Robb leaned back down for one last passionate kiss before swearing again and wishing her goodnight and leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya: You're not actually a bull.
> 
> Gendry: Am so.
> 
> Arya: Not.


	10. -1-0-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes at the end

-R-

Standing in front of a basin and washing himself after a brief, rushed and heated tryst with Margaery he was glad he hadn’t fucked up again and fallen asleep or gotten back late. Falling back in the bed he lay against the headboard and closed his eyes, relaxing in the cool breeze which was nicely floating in from the Blackwater. 

Things were going well. He was happy. Admittedly he shouldn’t have fallen asleep that one night but one night was one night and taught a valuable lesson about how to proceed with Margaery. He had been somewhat concerned at the possible arrival of the ominous presence of Tywin Lannister. Yet that looming figure had been replaced with a far shorter one. One who he needn’t worry about. Who unlike his legendary father wouldn’t be stalking around the halls of the Red Keep as if he ran the place would be running through whore after whore and running through cask after cask of wine.

It was of no concern. 

Prodding at his scars on his shoulder Robb wondered whether it would be wise or not to enter the melee. If he won a second melee in quick succession he would garner a rather fearsome reputation… Not that he wished to be a Southerner who cared for reputation and praise, however… He kind of did. He was a young man after all and with no wars on the horizon his training would be for naught if he didn’t compete.

He was young and already the winner of a rather grand melee. It wouldn’t be a bad reputation to garner. He didn’t want to give in to the pomp and indulgences of the capitol and South in general however fighting almost to the death though not quite was hardly the same as getting a direwolf helmet with a plume and ribbons on the top. 

Mid daydream. Or night dream. Whatever it was. When Myrcella got back. Late. Much later than he would have expected if Robb hadn’t been lost in his own mind. She acting weird. Not shifty weird. Just different for her. She was humming to herself and rocking her head side to side. She actually waved hello and proceeded to knock a cup off her writing desk. Myrcella began giggling as she stooped to pick it and up missing having to stand back up and centre herself before trying again.

Was she drunk? He had never seen her drunk…

“Hi Robb!” She basically sang at him waving again.

“Hi,” he said back slowly smiling a little bit as he watched she tried to take the silver and gold pieces of jewellery out of her hair and from her wrists. Holding her tongue slightly out in the corner of her mouth in concentration. Wait did she just call him Robb? Huh. Must have drunk a lot. “Did you have a good night?”

“It was fine, fine, fine, fine, fine! Actually it was pretty good. I like my Uncle. Tyrion Uncle that is. Wait no,” she scrunched up her face. “Uncle Tyrion!” She said with a final nod knowing she had gotten it correct finally. “He’s fun. Mother left early with my other Uncle but Tommen and I ate with Tyrion and Uncle Jaime came back later to join us! And we drank a little,” Myrcella held up her index finger and thumb to indicate a minute amount, “just a little wine!”

“Just a little?”

“Maybe,” she laughed holding her hands behind her back and swaying her shoulders side to side. “Maybe a bit more than a little. More than I’ve had before. I feel nice.”

“Wait until the morning.”

“Oh phooey!”

“Phooey?” Robb snorted. 

“Phooey!” She repeated with a definitive nod. “You!” She pointed at him the bracelet she had been in the process of removing falling to the floor in the gesture. “You!” Myrcella started again after picking it up. “Are a grumpy guts!” She said it with such resonance and gravity that Robb had to crack and laugh again. Where had this girl been? 

Robb just held his hands up in surrender. 

“At least you’re not in a bad mood at me anymore,” he said quietly. Really just part blurting it part trying to find an answer to a question he had been too shy and awkward to ask previously.

“I wasn’t in a bad mood with you silly, I was a bit horrified.”

“Why?” He asked, really unsure of what he could done which was horrifying. Well apart from that. So what had he done that she knew about which was horrible.

“You killed Ser Crakehall!” She whined indignantly. Oh right that. “He was a family friend, he was sweet to me when I was young and nice and jovial and I know, I know,” she dismissed an interruption he hadn’t been intending to make, “you had to and all that but still.” She shivered bodily at the thought.

“That isn’t a particularly mature response…” He said slowly really grasping for straws. She made a fair point and he hadn’t really thought about that.

“I’m not mature! I’m fifteen! I’m supposed to be immature.”

Another good point. He had no comeback to that. He could only watch bemused as his wife tried to undress. Try was the right word. She kept stumbling and fumbling and giggling at her own failures to get her dress off. When it fell to the floor she actually stuck her tongue out at it to taunt the inanimate object as it had been trying to stay on her despite her best efforts. Her usual almost insane love of perfect order and cleanliness momentarily forgotten in her current state. 

“Weee!” She sang out after extinguishing most of the candles and flopping down into bed next to him in her small clothes. “Bed,” she exclaimed as she wiggled around pulling the sheets up.

This was more he had heard her talk in a marriage in an evening. Did have the Imp to thank? Or to blame? He almost jumped out his skin as she rested her head on his chest. 

“It’s fine though, Uncle Tyrion put things in perspective for me, mother didn’t agree but she never agrees with him,” she told him. Her golden curls tickled his skin as she readjusted her head trying to find a comfortable place to rest. “So sorry about that.”

“That’s… It’s fine.”

“Are you fine with it?” She asked looking up at him but giggling as her hair fell in front of her face and tried to blow it from her face. “You know with killing someone? Have you killed someone before?”

“No.”

“No? As in you’re not fine with it or no you haven’t killed anyone before?”

“I haven’t killed before that, but it was fine. I’m still going to enter the melee for your father’s name day tournament.”

“Why? I suppose it is just what boys like. Swords and steel and… Sword,” she repeated failing to come up with something else. “I would never expect you to want to come a sewing circle or singing choir”

“You don’t tend to get hurt in either of those things,” Robb replied, he was a little shocked. This was strange, talking to his wife.

“Those needles can be sharp!” Myrcella told him and started laughing. “I once cut my finger and I had to suck the blood out until it stopped. I suppose you can’t relate.” She laughed again. Was this her father’s blood? That if she had some alcohol she had a loud personality underneath? Though he had barely offered her much in trying to prise her open. Would Robert Baratheon be a shy and proper sort of fellow if not plied with an excess of wine, mead, strong wine, beer and more wine. 

This was however a terrible point in his life for her to decide that she wanted to bond. He could still taste Margaery’s slavia in his own, he could still taste her… Well best not to think about that when his wife was resting on his chest trying to break a mould they had awkwardly established. Just ride it out and hope she is hungover tomorrow morning so Robb could sneak away and hide in some dark corridor until dinner. 

Myrcella’s hand had begun to trail a pattern through his chest hair and traced over his outlines of muscle on his chest and across his shoulder as he had been thinking. Was this getting worse or better? A less moral man would think better surely. He however considered himself a moral man, an honorable man; though that was not the case recently. 

Still.

He had been drifting off again into his own thoughts when he was knocked out of the trail of introspection as Myrcella nudged his jaw lightly with the top of her head. He blinked back to reality looking down at her, she was biting down softly on her lip; clearly staring at his own lips. It would be suspicious to refuse to kiss her wouldn’t it? So the smart thing to do Robb reasoned would just be normal. As normal as any husband. 

She tasted of wine was his first thought as they tenderly kissed. Would she be able to taste another women on his breath? Would she sense his unease and resignation? Whether she would or not was soon getting forgotten as Myrcella’s hand reached out and grasped his shoulder digging her nails into the muscle and tugging Robb to roll his shoulder up so they were pressed closer together.

There was a big part of him which thought ‘oh come on! Now?’ Of course being a teenage man there was another part of him which thought ‘fuck it.’ 

The latter voice got louder and drowned out the other as the princess’ nails really dug into his back, pulling him into her. Any guilt evaporated as he, in surprise, felt her fingers undoing the ties of his trousers. Robb shifted around and arched his back a bit to let her yank them down kicking his legs to get them off.

In turn Robb had taken her shift from her shoulders and just pulled it down exposing her breasts and pulling it up from mid way up on her thigh so it was bunched together around her waist. She giggled, still clearly drunk, as she straddled his thighs his length resting and touching her arse cheeks. Myrcella giggled again, before bending forward and raising herself up so he could guide himself inside her. She stopped her tittering for a moment as she took a sharp intake of breath and biting down on her lip again.

She lowered herself down, until Robb was fully inside her, finally letting out the breath. Leaning forward her hair spilled over his face tickling his cheeks, before he could react to this she, independently of him started a rhythm of up and down as he glided in and out of her. His own breath hitching.

“Fuck,” he mumbled.

“Don’t swear,” she managed to say in between her tiny, little, gasps and moans even slapping his arm before falling and having to prop her body up over him with a hand on the join between his chest and his shoulder. Her breasts, loose from her balled up shift, bounced in front of his face and he put a hand on her back to pull them into his face so they rubbed up and down on his nose and cheeks as Myrcella grinded against him.

He rocked his hips up as her’s came down finding a deep rhythm, their legs and bodies slapping loudly against each other. Myrcella shuddered and quivered and fell limp on him. That had never happened before. Not with her. He had always finished and then she had gone peacefully to sleep. 

“Ahhh,” she just let out a noise, her head burrowed in the pillows Robb’s head was resting on, breathing softly and murmuring. Her golden curls tickling him. Finally with a deep breath she raised her head up so they were face to face, she was smiling. “That… That was nice.”

“I’m glad,” he replied rather woodenly. He didn’t have much more to say. Though it was fair for her to finish and him not to for once. Just once. She slid off him, and plonked down next to him on the bed. Lying on her back breathing before breaking out into giggles again. 

“We should do that like that again,” she told him.

 

-S-

Things were looking… Not up not down just moving forward. He had had such suspicions for a while and they were looking to be proven true. He had confided in Jon Arryn. Which annoyed him. Annoyed him that he knew Jon Arryn would be better trusted by his own brother more than he would. He who starved for his brother in Storm’s End. Who had sunk the Greyjoy fleet for Robert and Stark to take on the glory on foot at Pyke. 

Though he would become the second in line for the throne. That was a reason to be suspected of wishing to delegitimize the children of the King. For many men yes. However he had earned the reputation as a man who wasn’t out for himself. Duty came first. Yet he was still forced to use the Hand of the King to bolster his claims. 

All these negative thoughts were swirling around darkly in his head as Stannis made his way to the small council. 

Jon had taken him aside and told him that if they were proven correct then to wait until the King’s name day had passed. To let Robert enjoy his special day. All Stannis could do was grind his teeth and consent through gritted teeth. His brother did naught but enjoy himself the fact he happened to be born on a certain day didn’t translate in Stannis’ head for a waste of money and consumption of alcohol beyond any sensible limit. Nor should it take precedent over duty.

Still. He needed Jon Arryn to convince his own brother… He let the thought trail off, rather than just letting it stagnate and rot further than it already had. 

Mace Tyrell suggesting that he made some donation for the King’s name day did little to help lift his foul mood. He just stared a hole through the side of Mace’s head as the man refused to look across the table at him. What a coward. He was so desperate to be made a master of something. Some frivolous title to expand his inflated ego and inflated, puffed up body even further. A man of no achievement. Annoyed he was on the same level as Robb Stark. At least Robb Stark didn’t waste precious council time with bluster. 

“Any contribution would be much appreciated by his grace,” Jon Arryn said taking it in stride. 

Stannis wished to be the Hand of the King. He knew that of himself and it bothered him that he wished for something selfishly. However he had to concede to himself that Jon was a good choice. Stannis didn’t have the ability to suffer fools with grace and politeness the way the Lord of the Vale could.

The plans were made. Some overblown tournament was happening over the weekend. A feast would take place outside overlooking the Blackwater on the Friday. One in a pavilion on the fields near the listings on Saturday and one in the grand feasting hall in the Red Keep to end the weekend on Sunday. Unbelievable. Three feasts. Knights coming from Dorne to the Riverlands to compete. A waste. A total waste. 

After the council meeting was adjourned Stannis was further angered as Jon spoke quietly to Robb Stark. 

“My lord,” Stark bowed his head at him as he left the meeting room as Stannis waited outside. 

“Stark,” he grumbled back before stalking into the council chambers. “What was that about?”

“I was just asking the boy how things are with him.”

“Why?”

“He’s far from home, he doesn’t like it here… And come on now Stannis we both know why Robb might be hurt by our investigation.”

“He’s a big lad, he can handle himself. He should know by now.”

“That’s where we differ I suppose,” Jon sighed rubbing his face. He looked exhausted. Stannis had thought he looked tired for most of the last seventeen years however recently his age was showing. “The King left this morning with Renly and Ser Barristan.”

“Did he now?”

“Yes, he’s just in the woods, I don’t think your brother wanted to go.”

“No I can’t imagine he would,” Stannis ground his teeth. So Robert had invited their younger brother, the boy who he made Stannis give up Storm’s End and the Stormlands for. Of course he didn’t want to go hunting with Robert but the slight was the main problem. A slight is a slight. “Why must we wait Jon? It is dishonorable. It is shirking of our duty!”

“Perhaps it is,” Arryn sighed again his hands finding their way back to his face to rub his eyes. “However this news… This news will lead to war.”

“So be it. The truth is as it is, the consequences are the consequences.”

“You’re a cold man Stannis,” Jon appraised him. “We’re waiting, let Robert enjoy the feastings and joustings and all that. It isn’t just for him you must remember. The lowly and the middle and the highest members of our society enjoy the break and relief it provides. Let them have that. Let the wine flow first.”

“Then the blood.”

“Yes. I am sending my wife back to the Vale.”

“Your son?”

“To Dragonstone. You may foster him there.”

“Good.”

“Yes, I hope you do a better job than I did with Robert,” Jon looked away into the middle distance. He looked as tired as ever, grey eyes and blank stare. Stannis hadn’t heard him criticize the King much if at all. 

“You did a good job with Stark,” Stannis finally broke the silence. He didn’t like Eddard Stark particularly but no one could count him as anything but a honorable man. He considered reaching out and patting Jon’s shoulder, reassuringly, but decided against it immediately. 

“I guess I did, we’ll need him.”

“It isn’t a matter of need.”

“I know it isn’t!” Jon snapped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Look Stannis, look, I understand that you feel people need to act out of duty. I’m sure the world would run better if it did. They don’t. Some do. Many don’t. So we need to be clever.”

“I’ll leave that to you.”

“Let’s just get through this celebration.”

“Let’s. Then whatever happens happens.”

“I suppose it does.”

 

-M-

“I’m definitely going to win this one,” Loras was telling the family at breakfast. “I’ve been training incessantly. That Beric nobody wouldn’t get lucky this time around.”

“You will my son you will,” Mace patted him on the back. “Definitely!”

“I could do with a new set of lances.”

“Of course, of course we’ll have it seen to it immediately.”

Margaery was so bored. Having Renly away should have been a blessing. She had a room in which she could fool around with Robb in all the time at any time of the day. However after the little scare when he had fallen asleep in her bed meant he was being particularly nervous about their trysts. He left before ten o’clock the night before in case his wife had left a family meal early. It seemed a little bit much. Too careful. The danger was exciting. 

Having Renly gone would have been more of a positive if Loras hadn’t been moping around looking sad and pining away for his lost love! Who was all of fifteen miles away. Maximum. It was a little pathetic. Hearing him speak of the jousting one moment and how he was going to be the greatest knight in the eyes of the Kingdom one moment. Then sad and holding at a stag pendant the next was strange. 

Loras might be one of the most interesting men in the capitol.

“I’m going,” she announced. It was too much to hear her father fawn over Loras. He didn’t win last time! That was hardly that long ago. It was no time ago at all and he and father were treating this tilting as if the Knight of the Flowers was going to win with no competition. Filling someone’s head with too much confidence couldn’t be a good thing. When did the lovably cocky cross the line into the arrogantly entitled? 

The Red Keep was a buzz. It was frantic. She was searching out Robb admittedly but it was interesting to see all the servants rushing around preparing for the weekend of feasting and excess. She would just swan in with the other lords and ladies and enjoy the pleasures and go. It was all done behind the scenes by the servants and craftsmen. Interesting but annoying. More people made for more eyes seeing more things. 

Margaery’s heart sunk when she found Robb standing in a busy corridor talking. It was one of the corridors which split between the way to the Godswood and the stairs upwards to the Royal apartments. So it would be a likely place the two of them would talk… It made her nervous and jealous seeing him talk to his own wife. Willing the princess to leave sooner. Perhaps she just wait in the godswood and amuse herself by making Robb jump.

Unless he wasn’t coming to the godswood… Unless he was going upstairs with his wife and they were going to spend their afternoons together. Laughing and growing fonder of each other and then go back to their chambers to fall into the bed in each other's arms?! Probably not. Margaery quieted those worries as quickly as possible. Did she mind if Robb still lay with his wife?

It was something she hadn’t really thought over. It would be fine for him to fulfil his duty. It was a martial duty nothing more. That didn’t bother her. The idea of him lying with Myrcella and just finishing and going to sleep waiting for a child to come was bearable. As long as the passion they had together stayed unique to them.

Burying any anxiety deep down she slid into the godswood and disappeared inside its labyrinthal trees and bushes. Margaery wasn’t going to convert or anything. She liked the peaceful atmosphere. She liked the wild greenery.

As she had thought Robb was coming to the godswood. She didn’t actually know if he prayed or not. Every time she had been in the woods with him he hadn’t been praying. Perhaps he returned later to atone. Not atone. Just to reflect.

“HiRobbhowyoudoing!” She rushed out of a bush.

“Oh fuck me!” He said leaning over to rest his hands on his knees and breath. 

“That was worth it,” Margaery laughed putting a hand on his elbow. “Sorry, that was funny. Arghhh!” She mimicked him waving her hands liked a crazed person. “How the hell did you win a melee?”

“People don’t tend to hide and leap out at you in the melee! What if that wasn’t me by the way?!” Robb asked, his cheeks a little flushed as he stamped ahead of her. 

“It was,” she shrugged before starting to laugh again thinking of him getting spooked again. He mumbled something grumpily. “Don’t be a bore, it’s a week of celebration isn’t it?” She asked. Robb turned and she pounced. He crumpled onto the Dragon’s Breath flower bed under the heart tree with her falling on top of him. 

“Ouch that really hurt!” He complained but she ignored him and started kissing him lying in the brush and fauna. Robb was uncertain at first but his lips compiled and worked against hers as his hands came up to her waist. Margaery hadn’t planned on jumping him like this but seeing him talk to his wife had made her slightly jealous. Which was pathetic. That was forgotten in his embrace though. 

They broke apart and she rested her forehead on his and giggled. Happy again. An idea came up in her head…

“What are you doing?” He breathed softly into her ear as Margaery began working the ties of his trousers apart.

“Shut up,” she muttered right into his ear before biting the lobe hard. He hissed in pain right as she took him in her hand. He was partially hard already and twitched and grew erect as she grasped his length. She went to kiss him again to stop him stopping her. Making him hiss again she bit his bottom lip and dragged it out painfully. Laughing at his shock she shifted down his body her knees coming to rest in the red petals of the Dragon’s Breath. 

Trying to look up and maintain eye contact she swirled her tongue over the head of his length and he let an animalistic grunt.

“Margaery,” he breathed out hard barely able to speak as she took him in her mouth. “We can’t, not here.”

She ignored him and sped up, gripping and pumping her fist at the base and working as far down his shaft as she could manage to take in her mouth. He relaxed and lay back letting her continue and making low noises. Finally his hands came to rest in his hair. It was all pinned up for the day so he just ran his fingers in between the gold and silver ornaments keeping it up.

With a grunt and some swearing he finished and she swallowed what hit the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” Robb managed as Margaery crawled back up his body and shifted to his side to rest her head on his shoulder able to feel his heartbeat and ribcage expanding. She quickly scanned the godswood quickly. It was empty. Of course it was. She wasn’t stupid she wouldn’t take a massive risk. A cheating man was far more acceptable to people than a cheating women. It was her turn to be taken by surprise as Robb grabbed her hips and shoulder and pulled her up onto his lap. 

She snickered and kissed him quickly as he was busy concentrating on pull her skirts over him and reaching up inside and pulling her small clothes aside. Her laughter stopped and she bit down on her bottom lip as his fingers brushed over her sex, already wet. Digging her nails into his shoulder, biting at the skin through his doublet Robb entered her slowly.

Grinding down on him slowly and carefully building up to a comfortable rhythm. Margaery wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself close as they ground against each other. Sweat mingling in the heat of garden. The soft sound of birds, the trees rustlings, the tide from the Blackwater Rush and they mutual moans was all there was.

It did feel like the godswood could be in a different world. Separate from the capitol. Detached from everything. Just the two of them, joined, inside of her, they were the only people in the world here.

 

 

-T-

He never knew why whistling ‘the rains of castamere,’ annoyed his sister so much. It was their house’s song after all. Not just their house but penned in honor of their father. Too any extent annoying Cersei was always good fun. 

Especially at the moment when she was so highly strung. She and Jaime seemed to be conspiring about something and he was determined to find out why and about what. It would appear this was the perfect time for cloak and dagger. The King was temporarily absent. He would be obliterated from alcohol from all corners of Westeros and Essos. Everyone was busy preparing for this over the top celebration. It all provided a smokescreen for those who weren’t in the partying mood.

Cersei was never ever in the partying mood.

Tyrion did oft wonder if she was different when she was just with Jaime. He loved his brother more than anyone else in this world and he disliked her more than anyone else in this world. Well maybe her son was worse, but he was still part of her. Did she speak tenderly to him? Jaime wasn’t a simple man able to look past a personality for looks. 

Whatever it was that was something he would never find out. Neither would speak. Besides there were other pressing matters. Both of his siblings were clearly very irked by the departure of Lysa Arryn and her sickly son. He couldn’t understand why at the moment. He would though.

They hated the King. That was true. If Robert Baratheon died then their son would ascend and Tyrion suspected that Cersei felt she could control Joffrey if he were crowned. Tyrion didn’t agree with that. His sister wasn’t as cunning as she believed herself to be. King Joffrey would cause all sorts of problems and the realm would bleed. Better an absentee, drunkard then a cruel brat.

However Lysa Arryn leaving made sense, it didn’t seem like a duplicitous move. Robin Arryn was sickly and Lysa had been driven a little barmy in King’s Landing so retreating to the peace of the Vale made sense… Unless it was some play by Jon Arryn to move his heir out of danger. If danger was on the horizon. 

Tyrion was at the front of a maze of threads unable to find which thread would lead him to the truth. Yet he needed to and one step forward no matter how small was progress. While both of his elder siblings were impatient and reckless Tyrion had become perfectly comfortable with the idea of smaller steps than most. 

Captain Vylarr strolled past pretending not to notice him so he didn’t have to bow or salute or whatever. He had been moving around in a suspicious manner since arriving at the capitol. Visiting Cersei and muttering with the Lannister contingent. Was this some sort coup? Unlikely. Without father’s consent they wouldn’t be bold enough to mount some second rebellion.

He thought it best to find some brothel now. Before things got too deep and messy. Before all of the girls in the city had been fucked so many fucking times he would be able to smell the come of the last few customers during the King’s name day celebrations. 

Anything to avoid seeing his family. He had been able to dine with Tommen and Myrcella and she had come out of her shell a bit, that was nice. Cersei was furious when she found out though. The idea of her daughter and son; her somewhat forgotten children, dining with their uncle was somehow an insult.

Well if she thought that an insult Tyrion couldn’t wait to see how insulted she would be when he foiled her little quarry. Whatever it might be.

-R-

Guilt was starting to creep deeper into his blood. He knew what he was doing was wrong. It was easier for him when his wife had been colder to him. He had thought it was some hidden resentment. Not the obvious fact that he had killed a man who she would have known. He was an idiot. Was he a bad person? Did bad people think they were bad?

Robb had always thought that. Was he just naive? Did Aerys think himself a villain? Or was he justified in his own mind? He shouldn’t compare himself to the Mad King. He had cheated on his wife and if he was honest with himself he was going to again and again. Not committed mass murder. 

He had come to King’s Landing looking up to Jon Arryn and looking down at Robert Baratheon. Yet what had happened? He’d turned into Robert more than Jon. 

Robb thought himself an honorable man. Yet he hadn’t acted honorably. He intended to act dishonorably in the future. The thought of not being with Margaery anymore made his heart ache and his stomach twist and churn like butter being made.

His father was known for his honor. Known for being honorable. Though Jon Snow… Still had he only acted rightly because of his father’s guidance and the consequences of what would happen if he disappointed him? Now free from any parental guidance or reprimands was honor just a convenience to him which only was upheld because there was no opportunity to do so? That the fear of disappointing his father was more severe than the benefits of hedonism.

That was too much. He hadn’t taken up stealing or drinking everyday and night, he wasn’t a bully and entitled like so many of the Lords who were far lower in the social rankings than Robb. No. It was just one slip. A repeated slip. 

The only answer was to train. If he was tired he couldn’t feel bad about himself. Besides he wanted to win another melee. This time it was mounted to add just another element of danger and excitement. Loads of horses skidding in the mud and broken limbs. Should be just awful. Probably the closest he would get to a battle for the foreseeable future.

***

“I asked my mother about what I or what we should get father,” Myrcella told him as he entered their solar tired and sweaty. So the previous night wasn’t just her drunk was it? She wanted to bond. Why couldn’t this have happened before he met Margaery Tyrell? Before… Well it was his fault so blaming her was unfair.

“Oh?”

“She told me not to worry and that the Lannister family gift would be mine too and leave it to you.”

“Right.”

“I’ll still help you pick something out though,” she offered sweetly but slyly. The confidence from the alcohol gone but the desire to want to talk was being nurtured.

“I really should have got something already, not last minute again,” he admitted not wanting the conversation to be anything but light. 

“True but my father won’t mind. He’ll probably drink a lot… He usually does,” Myrcella’s voice quieted and there was a sad note her as she trailed off. Now Robb truly felt guilty. His wife was upset by her father and he didn’t want to comfort to her. Would that look suspicious? Not to show any concern. Perhaps.

“It’ll be alright,” Robb said trying to sound comforting and not wooden walking slowly over to Myrcella. Shuffling more than walking, to rest a hand on her shoulder. She grabbed his hand with both of her’s. Wrapping fingers around his thumb and index finger leaning her soft golden curls as a cushion for her face against his chest. 

They stayed like that for a while before Myrcella just let go of his hand and looked up at him and gave a small, sad smile which made his gut hurt. He washed and dozed off in the bed, wiped out from training and just wanting to avoid talking further. Robb must have fallen asleep.

A deep sleep at that as when he awoke Myrcella’s head was resting on his chest and crook of his shoulder. His arm around her. Had she done that? Adjusted him into the unwitting position of a loving husband without his control? Or had he reacted bodily with her lying next to him? 

The princess’ breathing was light and airy on his chest, her ribcage moving daintily. She dreamed daintily. Did he hate himself? It was a hard question. One he didn’t know the answer to at all. He certainly didn’t think he did. Oh well. Robb closed his eyes and went back to sleep pretty quickly. Not anxious or worried. Just aware that he should be and just wasn’t. 

***

It was too hot and too late to be buying Robert Baratheon something. The King was returning that night, or morning next if he got drunk out in some tavern. So Robb left it until the very last minute. Myrcella had suggested bringing some merchants to their solar or some empty hall in the Red Keep with a selection of wares. 

He would never have considered doing that. Having others shop for him. At least Margaery came out in the city willingly. Was able to have interesting conversation. Myrcella was restrained by her own upbringing and what she had hammered into her head from a young age about courtly manner and interactions. 

Walking around the city trying find a Kingly gift just made him pine for the company of Margaery Tyrell. Sullenly kicking at stones and watching them skip along the dirt roads. 

His mind was elsewhere. As he picked up some trinkets and such things in a haze, buying something which looked fine and taking it back to the Red Keep. Robb was thinking of whether he cared what he was doing or not. Did it make him a bad person to recognize that he was behaving badly and continuing? Or was it worse to just not care? Or even reflect.

He didn’t know. Again did bad people know they were bad? That was the question. The question he would bury in the mud of the melee deep inside. 

 

-S-

“Does it matter?”

“Pardon my lord?” Stannis asked suddenly snapping his attention to Jon Arryn. The Hand of the King was reading other the great tome which Stannis had asked him to read. How many times could the man read the same thing? It bothered him a lot. He didn’t voice this annoyance, he tightened his jaw and rolled his teeth back and forth.

“All this,” Jon pointed to the heavy book. “Let me rephrase…” Jon sighed again, rubbing his hands over his face and breathing hard. He had done that a lot recently. Stannis had noticed he was showing his age of all a sudden. The man was in his 70s, just, but was sprightly and active. Now he looked weary and grey. If he was too elderly or if he died then Lord Royce would be fine to lead the forces of the Vale, he had already considered this. 

Stannis crossed his arms over his chest and stood front face to the Hand.“Go on,” he prompted.

“Is this all worth it?”

“Of course,” Stannis was taken aback, despite not showing it. “It’s the truth. The truth of the inner workings of our realm and the very codes which we live under and hope our children will live under one day. It’s an insult to those who died before and will live on in the future for us to decide what it right and wrong on a whim. It’s it either correct or incorrect. Nothing more needs thinking of.”

“It isn’t more difficult to you than that?”

“How is it?”

“Well Robert has bastards all over the city…”

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

“I suppose. Look I need to meet the King and Lord Renly on their return in order to keep up appearances.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to you over this weekend. They’ll be plenty of distraction then.”

***

“Father!”

Stannis was taken aback as his daughter ran headlong into him and hugged him hard around the waist. He was still for a moment, Shireen hanging onto him as he was stiff and unresponsive, before he carefully put his hands on her shoulders and hugged her back. 

“Daughter,” he said stiffly. 

“Are you looking forward to the feast? Or feasts,” she beamed at him as they broke apart. “It should be fun. I don’t like all the fighting but the meals are nice and Uncle Renly puts me on his shoulders so I can see!”

Stannis almost smiled. Almost. His daughter was unlucky. Horribly scarred. Whispered about and gossiped unkindly about. She would never get a suitor who was worthy of her birth. However Shireen was a good girl, nice and sweet who did her duty with a positivity very few of the so called ‘normal’ children couldn’t match. It was a testament to the values he instilled in her. 

“It should be…” Stannis started and stopped thinking of something to say which wasn’t negative.

“It’s fine papa,” she smiled widely up at him. “I know you don’t like such things, different people like different things.”

“Well I’m glad you will enjoy it.”

“I certainly will.”

Stannis watched her taken off by a handmaiden to eat dinner with her mother, his wife. Poor child he thought. He waited for a while after his daughter had left. Just staring into the space she once occupied. 

Jon Arryn might be reluctant but he certainly wasn’t. He sent a raven to Dragonstone with instruction. Sent men he trusted to the trusted captains of navy he controlled and to the men in his household guard. The weekend would be a long wait. A long dragging time. He and Jon were sure, they had the information they needed. Yet he had to wait for a stupid, facile reason. It was maddening but without Jon’s support he couldn’t act.

Just stew in anticipation. 

 

-M-

All too familiar were the rows and rows of tents and the spectator stands set up around tilts and arena for the melee. She was already bored of it all before it started. Her brother hadn’t shut up about it. How this was his time. Last time was a fluke. It went on and on and on and on and on… Yes. And on. 

Cersei Lannister wasn’t next to her husband. The crown prince was… Wait. Robb was competing wasn’t he? Last time he hadn’t been scheduled to compete the prince tried to have him killed. That hadn’t entered her mind until just now! She cursed herself for not even thinking about what could happen. Too busy trying sneak around together and continue their tryst secretly. 

Margaery didn’t let this on. She instead of doing what her body was screaming at her to do; run to the grey tent by the melee with the direwolf on it and shout at Robb not to compete. She controlled herself and just looked at the royal spectator’s box, pretending to care who was there and then walked off towards the tents. 

Just act casual she told herself. She walked into her brother’s tent which was one of the ones closest to the competition grounds. Normal thing to do. 

“Loras.”

“Don’t scratch the patterns,” Loras was telling his squire was cleaning his already gleaming cuirass. “Oh, hi Margaery, looking forward to my victory.”

“Of course. Whenever it comes I’ll enjoy it.”

Loras just scoffed. 

“Well, best of luck.”

“Thanks,” he said absentmindedly. 

That was enough of keeping up the facade she decided and left the tent, not that her brother noticed. He was too busy obsessing over his armor. Margaery made her way slowly over to the Stark tent just as the flap was pushed open and Robb stalked out looking up at the sky. 

He looked like a warrior. In grey plate armor, with a direwolf tunic stretched over the steel, holding an old looking leather belt with his sword and dagger on in his mailed hand. 

“Robb!” she called out to him a little too brazenly. He looked up at her confused and a little shocked, frowning deeply and quickly glancing around. “Lord Stark,” she corrected herself. He walked over to her. 

“My lady, are you here to wish your brother well?” He asked loudly in case there was an audience. Which there was. 

“Yes, I was, best of luck to you and your men also,” she replied loudly in turn. “But,” she lowered her voice, “I wanted a word. It’s important.”

“Right…”

“My lord!” A Northman with a beard, they all seemed to have long beards except Robb came over to his lord. “It’s time.”

“Sorry Marg… My lady, it’ll have to wait. Wish me luck.”

Then he was gone and Margaery was left watching him striding to where the horses were tied up. She could only watch as Robb walked off his men joining him from their tents and places around the camp. Horseback… That made it worse. More dangerous. More likely for an ‘accident,’ to happen.

***

She felt cold. Every moment was drawn out to an infinity. The horses actually smashed into each other. It wasn’t meant to be a real battle! Margaery tried really hard to act like someone she really cared for was down there in the chaos. How could this be entertaining to anyone? The sounds of steel and horses neighing and something shrieking as they fell were horrifying. It was… Beyond words.

The mud. That was something she couldn’t help but be appalled at. The ground of the Reach was hard and fertile. It didn’t get churned like that. Into a mess. A screaming mess. 

The long it went on the more it felt like a blur. Pretty everyone was either dismounted now or the ones who were still a horse were being ganged up by groups of temporary allies. Finally she found Robb Stark in the anarchy. Only by the direwolf on his muddied tunic. She squinted but couldn’t see any red streaks on the white.

Now she had found Robb Margaery finally tore her eyes from the competition to look over at the centre of the Royal Box where Cersei Lannister was sitting. Normally she left. Was she and her son watching this for a particular reason? Or was she just staying as it was her husband’s name day after all.

Of course it could just be paranoia. 

It looked a lot less like paranoia when the remaining hedge knights didn’t out and out move towards the Lannister and Crownland men but chose the leftover Arryn and Stark men still standing to go for. 

Though again that could just a risk the hedge knights were taking, pairing up with the bigger contingent. 

Margaery couldn’t tell if it was just her anxiety make the melee look more vicious than it ought to be. It did however look like the Northmen were having to frantically defend themselves against savage attacks.

Robb was fighting two men at once, barely holding them off. It wasn’t until one tripped in the mud and Robb cracked him in his helmet knocking him down and fending off the remaining man, that Margaery realized she had been holding her breath. Covering the need to gasp with small coughs, remembering where she was. 

It looked grim.

Robb was standing with a Knight of the Vale fending off a handful of Lannister men. 

No one had been killed so far. That was true. So if she was just placing her own fears onto what she was watching or not she didn’t know. Though some of the injuries those fighting had sustained were pretty bad and that was from some distance. 

At last it came down to the final engagement. Robb was being circled by three men. All in red and gold, contrasting starkly to the white and grey. 

The four of them keep tripping or sliding in the muddy mess they were trying to fight upon. 

That dragged it out longer than it needed to be. 

One man decided to go in for the kill finally. 

He skidded in the slick ground and Robb struck him hard in the chest knocking him over and making him writhe in the sludge. 

This gave the other two a chance to attack Robb as he was recovering from the swing.

He was tackled and dug his heels back.

As one man hugged his waist trying to drag to the ground.

The other prowled around to side to take a swing which was blocked.

The block meant they toppled together.

Surely that’s it?

They kept fighting in the dirt.

No one called an end. 

Standing above them one of the men held his mace high ready to strike at Robb.

He moved side to side trying to find a position to attack from.

Again Margaery realized she had been holding her breath as she almost spluttered running out of air. She looked around hurriedly and guiltily before wincing as the screaming rush of a wall of noise crashed into her hard. The crowd in which she was sitting was cheering and screaming. She hadn’t heard them before. What was happening? She turned quickly back to the melee. Cursing herself for missing a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes at the beginning


	11. -1-1-

-R-

The thought that this was no longer a less than friendly melee was long gone. This was now just a fight. He was completely ready to kill whoever was left. There was mud in his left eye, blurring everything to his left. The man on top of him was trying to pull his helmet off. Robb was reaching down his body for a dagger. His arm went limp. Something crashed into it. He just screamed in agony but thrashed out with his helmet which was loose, crashing into the man pinning him down. Over and over until he could only hear ringing and see nothing but specks of yellow and grey and feel his dead weight on his chest.

Robb freed himself from his predicament and staggered backwards to his feet throwing his dented helmet off searching with his impaired vision for a weapon. Whoever was left came hurtling towards him and he rolled into the dirt his arm exploding in pain as it made contact with the ground again. His left arm was limp. The mace wielding attacker must have struck him. That what that was.

He found a sword. It wasn’t his. It felt alien and unwieldy in his hand. His grip wasn’t right. He couldn’t properly form a fist. 

There wasn’t enough time to get used to the blade as vicious strikes came in right and left and barely able to parry them Robb dug his feet in the dirt. The training, the constant training which had taken up so much of his life just took over. He wasn’t thinking he was just reacting. He took another body blow, in between his arm and his breastplate. The warm trickle of blood. He could feel that against his skin which was cold with sweat. 

Robb realized soon enough, actually too late, that he wasn’t going win this waiting to tire his opponent out like he had with Ser Crakehall. No. 

Robb swiped wildly with his sword overhead at the Lannister man losing his grip as he went letting the sword clang and bounce off the mace as he took advantage of his distraction and tackled him as he had been tackled moments before. Mounting the man and bringing down a heavy mailed fist into the visor. The metal fittings broke under his blow the second one cracked his jaw and blood poured out everywhere the third strike and the man was no longer moving. Robb rolled off him and stood up slowly. Pain being replaced with numbness. 

There was an eruption of cheers and he stumbled around to face the onlookers. He’d won. That was terrible. He spat a glob of spit out. No blood in it. He wasn’t bleeding inside. That was good. A trumpet sounded and his men who hadn’t been knocked out or injured rushed over the fences which sectioned off the yard for the melee to his side. They looked rough too. That was hard. Joffrey.

It was Joffrey again wasn’t it?!?! Robb spat again this time in fury. That little cunt. Fucking fuck. He should have known. Was that why Margaery had tried to get his attention before he walked to his horse? She was more intuitive than him. His men didn’t come to congratulate him, as he heard his name announced as the victor, it rang hollow in his ears. As if it were miles away and he wasn’t connected to it. The Northerners surrounded him as if protecting him. 

“Robb, Robb, Robb,” he heard his name over and over. He snapped out his trance and saw Alyn was holding his arm and shaking him. He hadn’t noticed him. “Are you alright? Robb!” He repeated again sounding a bit more frantic as he continued. He nodded back at Alyn. “I need to hear you speak my lord.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. You were struck a few times rather nastily. We tried to stop it but the Gold Cloaks bullied us aside.”

“We’ll deal with it later.”

“But my lord it would appe…”

“Later!” Robb said firmly. Alyn looked at him sadly but nodded and retreated a bit from him. Another one of his men had found his lost sword in the bog that had been created and handed it to him. He mumbled his thanks and let himself be lead off to the Royal Box to be congratulated. 

Paraded in front of the royal box a drunken Robert bellowed his congratulations. Robb was ignoring him as much as it was possible to ignore a monarch searching for the crown prince. His fucking brother-in-law, his good brother. The little shit was sitting with his mother. Both of them looked angry. Really angry. Gritted teeth, locked jaws, eyes full of a rage tearing him apart. 

“Two in a row! Two in a row!” Robert shouted.

Myrcella was clapping politely and waved from her waist at him. Had his wife not realized the danger he was just in? Something strange which struck him was Tyrion Lannister of all people looked elated he had won, clapping along and smiling widely. 

The King had made his way ponderously down the steps of the royal box, needing a bit of help to get down the final jump to the ground. Robb bowed, he was in too much pain to kneel. If he kneeled now he doubted he could get back up.

“What a show! Well done lad,” Robert said softly. For him that was. “Come on knock it off! Enough of the fucking pom stand up. You don’t need to be bowing and scraping and kissing my arse after you kicked all of theirs,” the King gestured out at the now emptied melee yard. “Good job son, good job!”

Robb was speechless. Did no one notice what had happened? He had been ganged up on by every man who was either loyal to the Lannisters or could be bought by the gold of the Lannisters. The King roughly grabbed his arm and held it up for the audience to cheer him. It was the arm which was injured. Struck by a mace. The blood leaked out and he looked down to see the crimson streaks on what was left of the white and grey tunic he had on to identify himself as a Stark. He grimaced and had to pull his arm away. 

“Go get yourself cleaned up! Then we drink and celebrate!” The King roared slapping him on the back. That too did hurt.

Finally he found Margaery Tyrell in the crowd. She was ghost white. All the tanned beauty flushed from her face. Her hands were clasped to her mouth. She had realized. She was the only other sane person in this fucking city. Her eyes, her deeply emotive chestnut pools were swimming with distress. It made him concerned for her. If she was fine. Even though he was hurt she took precedent in his mind. 

 

-M-

Robb looked like he had crawled out of an actual battle. The King was oblivious. The audience in which she was sat was oblivious. That was obvious. It was clear that they tried to kill Robb Stark again! Brazenly. He was a member of the royal family for god's sake. It was wrong. She shouldn’t go and check on him… She really wanted to though. She was already standing and moving away as she told herself not to.

Fortunately most of the crowd was moving off. Over to the grander structure next to the jousting tilts, rather a few men loudly announced they needed to relieve themselves. She slipped away and made her way to the tents again for the second time that day. The melee lasted for about an hour. 

Loras was exiting his tent when she got there. It was good chance. She walked over to him as his squire and assistant moved back so they could talk with a bit more privacy.

“Did you watch that?”

“No.”

“Really?” Margaery asked stunned.

“Who won?” He asked disinterestedly checking his nails for dirt and then running his hand through his hair. 

“Robb.”

“Good for him. Going to celebrate with him now?”

“Knock the bloody smile off your face,” Margaery slapped his armored arm and instantly regretted it as her fingers ached. “The Lannisters mobbed him.”

“So?”

“What do you mean so?”

“It’s a melee people tend to gang up.”

“No it was more than that.”

“Well, well look it’s all turned out fine so don’t worry, go see him and be careful. I have a joust to win,” Loras told her resting his cold steel clad hand on her shoulder for comfort.

Margaery wished him luck and checked around the camp ground. A lot of people were either in their tents or moving away from the camp to go to the tilts. She quickly swept uninvited into Robb’s tent. He had his back to her and was luckily alone. It was a risk what she was doing. She knew it. Her head was telling her over and over this was foolish but her heart was pulling her along like a string on a puppet.

“Robb!” She cried out, her voice sounded distraught. He turned in shock before smiling a soft smile and held up a finger to indicate he needed a minute. Margaery used the break to tied the leathers straps on the tent door to fasten it closed. 

“Argh, that fucking hurts,” he hissed. She made her way over to him and helped him take off his pauldrons which were dented to pieces. She took them both and placed them aside. They were really heavy, how did he wear that whole suit? Then fight in it? Robb was fiddling with the leather straps over his shoulder joining the front and back of the breastplate on, she took her hand and placed it over his and undid the buckles for him letting the steel crash to the floor. “Well that’s fine, pretty cheap and unimportant the breastplate,” he said lightly but his voice was devoid of humor.

“It’s already broken,” she told him. His mail was a worse sight. There was blood in the chinks and rings which made up the side where he had been struck a couple times with a mace. She tried to help pull the mail and leather under armor off but it was so heavy she wasn’t much help, Robb just had to shrug it to the floor. His tunic underneath was stuck to his body with sweat.

“Fuck!” He cursed as Margaery helped pull it up off his body. It looked bad. Dried blood had congealed over a bruise and red and black skin. “Does it look bad?” She just nodded. Margaery pushed him lightly over the basin and made him stand in front of it. She found a jug of water and poured into the basin quickly.

“Two fights and I have to clean you both times.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s fine,” she realized he wasn’t in the mood to be teased just yet. She dipped the cloth, wrung it out and wiped the gore and repeated. 

“What was it you tried to talk to me about before I went to fight?”

“Well,” Margaery said slowly as she concentrated on getting rid of the mess, the cut had already healed, more a bruise than a gash, it would be another scar though, no doubt. “What happened. I thought about it walking down to watch.”

“Yeah… I thought about it when it was happening.”

“What good would my warning be? Honestly. You would have had to compete anyway.”

“True.”

“Two time winner though.”

“True…”

She finished up as they stood in silence. There was a pressure mounting between them, the silence deepening the pressure and pushing it down and down until it reached a crescendo and boiled over.

“I thought that I’d lose you there,” she rushed out, “I really did, I was panicking. Actually panicking. I don’t think I’ve ever panicked before!” She admitted, unable to look up at him, instead she was staring at his chest and nervously playing with the cloth in her hands. “I forgot where I was. I came straight over here I know I shouldn’t. I know I should have waited but I couldn’t. I just had to make sure…”

Robb put a finger under her chin and delicately, especially delicate considering how brutal he just was minutes before, and raised her face to look at him.

“I’m glad you did. I thought I was alone.”

That pressure was there again under her skin as they looked at it other. She dropped the cloth and looked down breaking the gaze for a moment. Before putting her hands on his chest and pushing him back forcefully kissing him hard as they tumbled back together. He grunted in pain as they hit the floor, it had a sheet over but was just hard grass. 

“I thought I lost you,” she murmured in between kisses. “Just tear it I don’t care,” Margaery ordered as Robb tried to adjust her dress and then smallclothes, less than a second passed before she heard the ripping of her clothes. His hand was working against her stomach tearing at his trousers.

It was hard and desperate. There was no build up like when they were together before. He entered her forcefully and she bit down on his lip hard, so hard she tasted the copper of his blood. It was primal. Animalistic. She was fully clothed riding on him, grinding and bouncing up and down on him. Leaning down they couldn’t kiss anymore. Focusing on not making too much noise. She failed at that and had to bite Robb’s shoulder as he rammed into her.

“Fuck… Oh fuck…” 

She felt something inside her. Something new. Had he…

“Fuck… I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine,” she whispered into his ear. “Don’t worry… It’s fine,” she kissed him on his mouth then jaw before pressing up his chest so she was upright and started to slowly grind back and forth finding a perfect spot.

She panted lightly as his hands came to rest on the sides of her dress, holding himself to her as she built herself up to her finish. Shuddering lightly and just whimpering lightly. They were the only two people in the world when locked in the tent. The whole court and anyone of any note and importance were only a few hundred yards from them… But they weren’t. They didn’t exist. Only she and him did.

Margaery raised herself off Robb and lay down on his chest as he fiddled to do his breeches back up. 

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she told him again now in bliss and relief. “Thought I lost you.”

“I would have lost you if I died too,” he mumbled softly into her hair his warm breath blowing the strands which had come loose while having sex. “I looked for you in the crowd.”

“I only looked at you.”

“What about…”

“Shhh,” Margaery stopped him. “It doesn’t matter now. Only you and I exist right now.”

They lay there, on the cold ground, she was using his chest as a mattress as they caught their breath together. The loud cheers from the jousting reached their ears. 

“I guess other people do exist,” Robb broke the silence and she chuckled. “Unfortunately.”

“People who want you to die.”

“I’ll kill them all. Every Lannister who tries to kill me I’ll kill first. I’ll keep killing them until its over.”

“The Queen? Your good-mother?”

“I wouldn’t kill a woman.”

“No… I suppose I’ll just watch and wait until you finish killing everyone and its just you and me left in a city of ghosts.”

“Just you and me eh?”

“Just us.”

 

-T-

His sister was a total fucking idiot. Having men in Lannister colors. Clearly aligned to their house trying to murder her good-son in front of the court… It was beyond belief how stupid she was. If it was her. It could be Joffrey. Either way. First Crakehall dead now Captain Vylar had his jaw broken to pieces by Robb Stark’s fist, the man might die too. Most likely would. Grand Maester Pycelle himself tended the wounds and said the man had swallowed a lot of blood. 

Tyrion wouldn’t miss him if he died and hoped he would be humbled a little if he didn’t. 

Still. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was how blatant that folly he had watched in the morning was. It was obvious to anyone with a brain. Which may just have been him and a handful of the more unpleasant members of the small council but it didn’t go unnoticed. 

Who would Cersei want her daughter married to? Tommen if her tastes were anything to go by. Or more likely; no one. 

Robb Stark didn’t come to the feast that evening. The first of three. Outside in a large courtyard of the Red Keep looking out onto the Blackwater Rush. He wasn’t surprised. However the lad was a fool and after several drinks added to the several drinks he had during the day (and morning) Tyrion decided to get him.

Stark needed to show his face. Get the praise he’d earned in the melee and more importantly show he was alive and well and unphased by what had occurred. 

Actually he didn’t care about the Stark boy at all. However he did care about undermining Cersei. Did she have no forward planning? If the Warden of the North’s son was killed under suspicious circumstances by red cloaks then there would be severe consequences. One’s he personally did not want to live under. Tyrion always remembered the sight of the fleet on fire at Lannisport, such times were not at all desirable. Nor did he think he could live as well as he liked and enjoyed if there was war. 

So he would find Robb Stark and drag him to the feast. Well maybe not drag just persuade carefully. 

Tyrion walked as fast as he could manage into the Red Keep and found the solars for permanent residents. Asking for direction from a servant he found his niece’s room and knocked as hard as he could. A battered looking Robb Stark cracked the door an inch. 

“Lord Stark, congratulations on your victory today!”

“What do you want Lannister?”

Tyrion certainly noticed the poison and venom loaded and wrapped up in the way he pronounced his families’ name. That wasn’t a good sign. Though an understandable one. 

“A word.”

Robb Stark looked at him grimly. He was clearly considering turning Tyrion down and slamming the door in his face. Before finally opening up and allowing him entry.

“What is you want to talk about then?”

“Well… This is a nice room,” he said looking around, he could see his niece’s things neatly ordered. Robb clearly didn’t want to bother with any smalltalk. If he didn’t want to talk at all discussing niceties would be a longshot. “Right, I thought you might want to come to the feast. I mean you won after all and your wife will want to see you before sleep.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You should.”

“Why are you so interested in me going Lannister?”

“I’m…” Tyrion started and trailed off. Of course, if Robb thought that his family wished him ill then why would he want to take his advice. “Look, I know you may wish to stay as far away from certain members of court today. However those people you may or may not wish to avoid they too will be happy to know that you are here. Hiding from them.”

“I see…” Robb nodded slowly. Tyrion waited patiently for him to think, not wanting to push too much and let the lad come to the conclusion as it were his own decision. Pride and all that. “Fucking… fucking fine let’s go.”

“Good, you’ll have to walk smaller steps for me.”

Robb just made an annoyed noise at that. They didn’t speak, but he wasn’t so rude as to walk off and leave him paces behind, which many had done. So that something. There were dancers in front of all the tables right before the King’s table. It was nice, all things considered. The low light of the candles in the dusk, the people enjoying themselves. The soft, serenading noise of Robert yelling over the music. Nice.

“Will you do something out of good faith for me Lannister?”

“Huh? What’s that?” Tyrion was surprised that he had spoken to him. “What would that be pray tell then?”

“Taste all my food.”

He laughed at that. “I’ll try your wine if you like? I’m not much of an eater. I try to keep it to a minimum, it spoils the effect of the booze.”

“Fair enough. I ate a couple of olives a few hours ago. That should hold me in good stead.”

“More than me.”

Tyrion and Robb took different routes but he took his place at the table. The look of distaste on his sister’s face made him chuckle as he leaned back in his chair and decided to enjoy the night as much as possible. 

 

-R-

Fucking talked into something by a Lannister. What an idiot he was. He kissed his wife on the cheek hello as he slid into the royal table. He couldn’t look at Cersei Lannister. He was too angry. Luckily Joffrey was absent. Robb actually might attack him if he was present and did anything infuriating. He didn’t have his sword with him… He didn’t plan on coming in the first place and the visit from the Imp. He picked at the food placed before him not wanting to eat it.

Some soldiers and knights getting a little overzealous in a melee was one thing. Poisoning him at dinner was another but still he was wary.

He checked who was at the table and it looked like everyone except all the Tyrells and Stannis Baratheon. He doubted they were absent doing something together. 

“Stark!” Robert shouted standing up and pushing his way over to him throwing a heavy arm around his shoulder like they were old mates. It made him wince in pain as the bruise and scar on his upper ribs strained under the weight. “A champion a proper champion. I used to do the melee too! It was fun getting stuck in!” Despite talking to Robb Robert would easily be heard twelve yards away. “Fuckin’ hell! Two in a row! Two in a row! Father’s blood in you my lad.”

Robert went on and on for some time before staggering to shout with some lords who were as deep in their cups as the King and happy to shout together. That and harass female servers in front of their wives. All while shouting. 

“Well done my lord,” Myrcella spoke to him. “I hope Captain Vylar is recovering but well done!” She beamed wide before looking awkward and away. “It was hard to make out what was happening but all looked rather exciting.”

“It was muddy.”

“Muddy too, I’m glad I wasn’t down there,” Myrcella turned up her nose at the mere thought. “Well I’m glad you won! Well done you… Again, well done again.”

“Thanks. I’m glad too.”

“You’ll get another little figurine thing tomorrow!” Myrcella chirped happily. 

“That makes it all worthwhile then doesn’t it?” Robb drawled sarcastically. He was a bit distracted as Cersei Lannister was taking her leave clearly angered. Though considering he had only seen Queen angered then that might not give him the best insight into her mind and if she was trying to kill him. 

“Don’t be so dour,” Myrcella told him.

“Why not? Everything hurts everywhere.”

“Even your toes?”

“I know you’re trying to tease me princess but actually I’ll have you know that your toes do hurt a lot when you’re wearing full plate armor as they keep rubbing against the mail and steel,” Robb explained leaning back into his chair and sinking his cup of wine feeling a bit more relaxed. The oppressive atmosphere created by the mere presence of his good-mother had evaporated. 

“I hoped you washed.”

“Sorry?”

“Washed. I don’t want you staining the bed sheets with filth and… And blood,” Myrcella turned her nose up at the thought. 

“I didn’t kill some great uncle or family friend of yours did I?”

“No…” Myrcella drained her cup before carrying on. He kind of liked it when she was tipsy and adorable even though it did make him feel like a bad person. Well it made him feel like he ought to feel like a bad person. Whatever. He had been part of an attempted assassination today at the behest of his wife’s family, any moral introspective could wait. It could always wait until later. “Did you kill him? Oh dear.”

“Oh dear…” That was a good summation of the day. 

 

-M-

Her family had chosen to miss the first feast of the three. The weekend of expense and excess. The Tyrells decided to dine alone together in their garden. Loras was the golden child having passed the first few rounds of the joust, before another tomorrow and the final four on Sunday. It was ludicrous. So many people had entered it drew the length out. 

She couldn’t even remember the name of the man who won the tournament previous and knocked her brother on his arse. So was it that important? Clearly. She couldn’t understand why.

“A sure thing lad a sure thing my boy!” Mace was bouncing around in his seat. Of course Loras won his first set of tilts. They did the brackets so the top competitors would likely meet later on in tourney so it was more of a spectacle. 

“You fool Mace!” Olenna slapped down her son’s waving arms. “Did you not hear about what happened in the melee?!”

“I watched it… You weren’t there.”

“No, I don’t need to watch boys showing off anymore than I already have thank you very much. However this nonsense at the prince’s name day and now this nonsense at the melee.”

Mace looked at his mother stoney faced. Oh come on father, Margaery willed him on, it was fun to tease him and lightly make fun of him but she didn’t like seeing him humiliated or anything like that.

“It’s a powerplay! Jon Arryn has sent his family from the capitol, Robb Stark is being attacked almost blatantly,” Olenna carried on when there was no response. “Something is a foot. If Stark is killed by Lannister men then his father will probably come to King’s Landing.”

“I want to meet Eddard Stark,” Loras piped up.

“Well you might not if he comes with 20,000 Northmen. Have you heard of the Boltons?”

“It won’t get to that,” Mace waved her off though his face showed a different picture. 

“Will it not? Perhaps not. No. However if it does, it is more likely than you storming Pyke and making yourself Lord Pufferfish of salt and sea or whatever such nonsense, we should have a contingency in place.”

“Such as?”

“I’m an old woman, I shouldn’t have to be the military and political tactician of the family!”

“No… I suppose not. However we shall just see how it works out. We have our own problems with our own realm.”

Margaery was sure she heard her grandmother mumble the name; ‘Randyll Tarly.’

***

“So you wanted a word?” Olenna asked Margaery peering over the table at her as she scooted around to be closer. “That’s a worry, you’re normally the calm and reasonable one, not needing of guidance.”

“Well now I do.”

“I’ll offer what advice I can dear.”

“You do promise this stays between us? I know you wouldn’t tell anyone I just want to hear it confirmed verbally please?” Margaery asked lowering her voice as low as she could.

“Very well I do,” her grandmother nodded that aura of constant mischief disappearing immediately. Being serious. She was a good grandmother Margaery thought, the best even. “Go ahead.”

“So… Oh, where do I start?”

“Would you like me to suggest things?” Olenna asked that air of mischief creeping back in.

“It’s just I’ve behaved… I’ve…”

“You wanted to talk to me so spit it out I’m old and I like to sleep around nine and that passed an hour ago.”

“I may… Look I have… Not honored…”

“Seven hells girl. Have you killed someone or are you having an affair or have you taken up thieving from the royal treasury? Selling military secrets off to the good masters of Yunkai?”

“Affair.”

“With?” Olenna asked militarily. Just emotionless. 

“...Robb Stark,” she blurted out a little too quickly before covering her face equally as quickly so Margaery didn’t have to look at her grandmother.

“I see… Well. Well I suppose the fact I didn’t know means you haven’t been careless.”

“No…” Margaery mumbled wanting to just let her grandmother mull this news over and work through her thought process then offer up any more information. 

“More than once?” She asked and Margaery just nodded not looking up from the table. “Right. Have you been careful?”

“Careful?”

“About pregnancy?”

“Oh yes. Yes. So yes, we were up until today… Watching that melee I thought he was going to die and I rushed to his tent afterwards… The moment took me. We weren’t… You know,” she was a little bit horrified to be telling this to her elderly frail grandmother, but who else? 

“I see, well I would tell you to stop all this foolishness but I’m guessing you won’t?”

Margaery just nodded, she had gone a little pink, that was rare for her. 

“Well… Fine, well I’ll discreetly have you some moon tea prepared. I shall tell our maester it is needed for one of the litany of giggling hens we call handmaidens. It makes sense, there is a tourney a lot of knights and what have you are strutting around the capitol. He sweet talks one of our girls into spreading her legs.”

“Seems unfair.”

“It’s probably true. I can have a big batch and just let whoever needs it to come and drink directly from a cauldron with a bloody ladle.”

“I would prefer mine discreetly delivered.”

“That can be arranged too. Though if he does get you with child he has dark hair like Renly and despite how close you and Loras are I doubt you’re close enough to get Renly’s seed from him.”

“I don’t really want to get pregnant right now.”

“What do you want?”

“Robb.”

“Oh. Have I told you the story about how I married your grandfather?” Olenna asked her, peering intently at her in the low light. Margaery shook her head. “Well, I was promised to some Targaryen. Weasel face, stupid light hair and those ugly purple eyes. Luthor was much more my cup of tea… Bad choice of words right now. Anyway, he was more for me yet he was promised to my sister. So I snuck up to his room one night. I must have gotten lost you see?”

“How careless of you,” Margaery smirked which was returned mischievously by her grandmother.

“Precisely, very careless of me indeed. Well I went into Luthor’s room and by the next morning he only wanted me. He could barely walk, but wanted me.”

“I don’t see how this applies to my situation though.”

“No? No I guess it doesn’t still it was good fun telling it.”

 

-R-

The pain was easing slowly out of him with each cup of wine. The more he drank the less he cared about what happened out in the yard earlier. It was hard to be in a bad mood when the King was enjoying himself. Shouting and laughing and jeering at everyone who crossed his field of vision. Lord Renly looked like had enough and excused himself holding his stomach like he was ill. Robb presumed that it was a ploy to excuse himself and cavort with a certain Tyrell.

Huh. The two Tyrell siblings who lived at court certainly had something in common. So he was Renly to Margaery being Loras? Or was she… No. Best not to make those comparisons. 

Myrcella was giddy. She had been drinking more than he had seen her before.

“Uncle Tyrion! Uncle! Come here please come here!” She called across the table further down from where they were seated. The dwarf looked up and caught Robb’s eye biting his lip then moving over to them. “Good evening Uncle have you met my husband yet?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” he said neutrally fixing him with his mismatched eyes. It would have been a little more unnerving if he hadn’t been drunk and secondly had that interaction with him earlier that evening. Besides his wife like him.

“Lord Tyrion,” Robb inclined his head and shook the outreached hand. “How are this evening?”

“Oh marvellous, just terrific yes, I normally drink rather nice wine as I’m sure you might imagine, however the special stuff for the King’s name day… Now that was worth leaving the Westerlands for.”

“And to see us all?” Myrcella added.

“Of course princess,” he smiled softly at her. “I’m wounded that you would suggest such a thing didn’t go without saying. Of course I wanted to see my niece and nephew and my brother.”

“Not your sister?” Robb asked a little brazenly. 

“Doesn’t that go without saying too?” Tyrion asked his eyes smiling despite delivering his reply completely sincerely and deadpan. “Did I only say nephew too? Singular. How forgetful of me.”

Robb had to bark a laugh at that. Even Myrcella giggled before stopping herself and looking very serious for a moment. 

“At least you got this melee out of the way. You can sit back and watch the rest of competition.”

“I think I need to recover. I took quite a kicking today.”

“Could've been worse.”

“Could have.”

“Well it wasn’t! Come on now Uncle you’re just as bad as my husband. Being grumpy and moody for no reason,” the princess chastised Robb and Tyrion. 

***

Myrcella was actually skipping alternate steps on their way back to their solar. She was adorable. Watching her feet land with each small leap. They had drunk a little wine. He had finally given in and eaten some meat, the fear of poison becoming secondary to the rumbling hunger. Then talked to Tyrion Lannister all evening. As much as Robb didn’t wish to like the man, he did. 

“That was fun,” she declared as they entered their room and closed the door behind them and slid the lock into place. Myrcella went through the same routine as before when she got back drunk and started undressing while humming and dancing around.

“The skipping or the feast?” Robb asked as he started to pull off his clothes. 

“The feast of course and your victory! Of course, well done… Again, again, again!” She beamed at him with her eyes closed tight. “The skipping was alright too. Do want to try? Skipping that is?”

“Erm… No… Thank you…”

“Of course not!” Myrcella stuck her tongue out at him then skipped over to him around him then back to her desk. “See fun.”

“I think you’re trying to annoy me.”

“I am.”

“What is it with woman wanting to annoy men?”

“Is it common, which other woman annoys you?”

“No.. Well my sisters did,” Robb covered himself quickly. Though Margaery’s mockery was more asserting her intellectual superiority whereas Myrcella was playful and wanted him to be less proper and stiff. Well that seemed like she wanted that. This was one of their few conversations which lasted more than just formalities. 

“Well you see the problem?” She asked him seriously. He shook his head. “You. If you refuse to be fun and just get annoyed then its one who is to blame. I liked your sister when she was here for our wedding. The older one… Erm Sansa! That’s it. She was nice.”

“I think she wanted to move South instead of me.”

“Why not both?”

“I don’t see that happening.”

“Rubbish!” Myrcella shook her head and threw her dress over the back of her chair. “Now look away.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to get naked and run to bed. Maybe skip to bed, so you should look away.”

“I’ve seen you naked before,” Robb mumbled turning his back to his wife. He heard her small clothes hit the floor and then her feet padding along and the spring of the mattress then the rustle of sheets. 

“In the proper circumstances nudity is fine otherwise it is indecent!” She declared loudly. 

“Should I change behind the screen thing?” Robb offered as he paused with his breeches. 

“No that would be stupid,” she scowled at him for a moment before cracking a smile and spluttering out a laugh she was holding in. He just shook his head exasperated and walked to the bed in his trousers and got into the bed with them on. “The sheets!”

“Are changed every morning!” He mimicked her franticness. 

“Fine! Just this once because you won your little melee…”

“Wasn’t a little melee,” he grumbled lowly.

“Little melee,” she continued unabashed. “You can wear your trousers in bed. Just this once. Does this hurt?” She poked the bruise and cut on his ribs and he hissed. “I guess it does.”

“I’m pretty drunk… So not so much. I mean poking them does so please do… DON’T!” Robb snatched her hand out of the air as she went to poke him again looking like a playful child. “Don’t it hurts.”

“Sorry,” she sang out flippantly. Before tucking her head into his chest and rolling her hand over his stomach feeling the muscle. “Can you put out the candles? Not all of them just… Some of them you know. So it’s the right light. Since you’re dressed. In bed. Then you can undress properly.”

Robb groaned like it was a massive effort to do this but did it anyway, sliding off his trousers and joining his wife in bed where she pulled him back in.

 

-M-

“Good luck then later,” Margaery waved off Loras who had consumed a week’s worth of food for breakfast. Getting the energy for his joust. Olenna Redwyne waited patiently for each other member of the family to peel off respectively. “So?”

“Well,” Olenna turned her attention to Margaery once Mace had wandered off. “I made the request of the dithering old fool. I know I’m old so don’t give me that look. I don’t dither. I’m not a fool. Got it? Good. Right so I asked our maester to brew some moon tea. He came back to me and said it would be tomorrow.”

“I thought it could be brewed really quickly.”

“Yes it can be. However apparently the ingredients needed have to be bought at market so I sent someone I trust. The stockroom in the Red Keep was bare of those ingredients.”

“Of just those?”

“Yes.”

“So…”

“Someone in the Red Keep is brewing repeated batches of moon tea. Someone either does not want to get pregnant or doesn’t want someone else to get pregnant.”

“Who?”

“Only the maesters of the highest houses can use Pycelle’s supplies.”

“And Pycelle.”

“And Pycelle,” Olenna agreed. “So it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“That’s… Well fine that’s fine isn’t it?” Margaery asked hurriedly. 

“Yes. Yes. It’s fine.” 

The joust would taking up most of the day. Margaery would have liked to be able to take the moon tea that morning so there was no need to give it further thought. Though Myrcella hadn’t gotten herself with child for the months she had been married to Robb so it was probably fine. Maybe she could find Robb actually in the royal box. It was a long day out there watching tilt after tilt. There would be plenty of opportunities to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stannis should have punished Davos for smuggling by having him stoned with onions.


	12. -1-2-

-S-

“Wake up.”

“Nurrgh…”

“Wake up.”

“No go away.”

“Wake up now.”

“I’m really sick.”

“Wake up I’m not going to repeat myself again.”

Renly sat up in bed but didn’t get up and dress himself as was appropriate when talking to one’s brother. That really annoyed Stannis.”

“What are you doing here brother?”

“I’m here for a very important reason. Something which will change everything. You’re inability to restrain yourself when it comes to drinking wine is hardly my problem.”

“It’s not that. I think I’ve been poisoned.”

“What?” Stannis blurted out. Of course it made sense for the Lannisters to try to weaken the position of the royal family and the King’s allies. He was impossible to poison he took dinner in his solar and didn’t partake in drinking. However Renly swanned around. An easy target. He put a tentative hand on his brother’s shoulder but withdrew it immediately when it felt so forced and uncomfortable. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I think it was that bloody boar.”

“Boar?”

“When Robert and I were hunting out in the woods he killed a boar and insisted we all ate the thing. I bet it had worms or some rot,” Renly told him. The mention of the fact it was Renly not him who was invited on the hunting expedition irked him still. Stannis pushed that grievance down inside with all the others. More important things were at stake.

“Are you sure? Did you feel poor when you were out?”

“No it was last night at the feast.”

“Could it be the feast?”

“Why would…” Renly stopped to cough and cough and then be sick. It wasn’t proper sick just yellow and orange goo. “Fuck.” He took a calming breath. “Why would the feast make me sick?”

“Think you fool.”

“...”

“The Lannisters! They… Look here Renly I need you to be the man you ought to be. The Lord of Storm’s End,” Stannis told him. Referring to his younger brother as the lord of his birthplace made his stomach turn. “Not the fop of this viper’s nest.”

“Brother?!”

“Come now I overlook a lot with you. You’re sexual perversions, your excess all of it.”

“Perversions?”

“You know of what I speak. It doesn’t matter. I don’t like you Renly but I do love you as a brother must. The Lannister tried to kill Robb Stark in the melee today.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s fucking my wife…”

“Then why haven’t you challenged him to single combat?” Stannis asked. He hated to get distracted but it was important that someone who held the Baratheon name would let such a slight lie.

“Well he would win. Easily. Also someone ought to,” Renly grinned before coughing again and producing more of that bile vomit. “So I would be dead and he would be able to fuck my wife and I wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone. Besides, I cheat on her, she cheats on me. I’m wronged and wronging at once.”

“I… Look this isn’t the time for me to correct your behavior, not that I could. However I have something important to tell you.”

***

“Jon!” 

“Lord Stannis,” Jon looked exhausted. 

“Renly is ill I think he may have been poisoned. However I let him know what was about to happen.”

“Now we need Robb Stark and we will have a rather strong contingent. Though he might not be too happy with the news.”

“He might.”

“What do you mean?”

“Renly informs me that Robb Stark is lying with Margaery Tyrell,” Stannis said through clenched teeth. It seemed like gossiping. Like an old fishwife. However it was important no matter how displeasing it was to relay it. 

“You don’t say? I don’t know if I believe that. A Stark? Breaking his vows?”

“I have told you all that I know on the subject,” Stannis snapped. 

“Well… I don’t know. If it’s true it isn’t the worst thing that could happen. If they are already together then…” Jon Arryn left the suggestion hanging.

“Not my business.”

“I get tired of telling you that you’re a cold man.”

“How many swords do you have?” Stannis asked getting their conversation back on track.

“One hundred and fifty, you?”

“One hundred. Stark can provide thirty.”

“The Tyrells are the key. I’ve had my informants looking into it and there three hundred red cloaks and we can’t rely on the gold cloaks.”

“No I suppose we can’t. Money talks doesn’t it? Men. Actual men are willing to whore themselves to Lannister coin. The Stormlands and the Vale aren’t rich enough to convince some to do their duty to the realm!” Stannis’ voice rose with anger but he suppressed it.

“The Reach is rich enough.”

“I understand what you’re saying.”

“You have the navy though.”

“I do but sailors won’t stand up to armored and professional soldiers.”

“So the Reach.”

“Yes.”

“How would you say we proceed?”

“You should speak to Stark first.”

“I suppose I should… I should speak to the Tyrells too. I don’t think that you would be the best person to convince Mace Tyrell to help us.”

“Renly would be ideal. He understands the situation.”

“But is sick.”

“Well you can do that I’ll find more swords.”

“More swords are what we need.”

“Then I’ll find them. My man Davos Seaworth…”

“The Onion Knight?” Arryn asked him. He was one of the few men who said the moniker without any mockery. 

“Yes. Some call him that. He has arrived from Dragonstone and he is perfect for such a task. He has the common touch, he can convince people to do what they ought to despite their greed.”

There was no further need for speech. They nodded to each other and went to their business.

 

-R-

“Thank you that’s fine,” Robb dismissed the maester who was painting a salve onto his damaged ribs. They hurt a lot that morning. There was a disgusting grey-white paste smeared on his side. He lowered his arm tentatively, at least it wasn’t sticky. 

“I would drink this too,” the old man held up a flask. “Just a sip every couple hours for the next few days.”

“Thank you,” Robb repeated woodenly taking the ceramic flask. He waited until the healer shuffled from his solar and he threw the ‘medicine,’ from his balcony. Hoping it didn’t hit anyone he waited with an eye closed and his teeth clenched until he was sure there was no screaming from someone knocked out by a flying potion. 

There was no fucking way he was going to trust one of Pycelle’s minions handing out tonics. If the Lannisters were willing to have the shit kicked out of him he was hardly going to start drinking peculiar cordial given to him by a stranger. Maybe he should have fed it to the Lannister hounds in their kennel… That would have been smart. This was why he wasn’t cut out of the capitol. He didn’t have the mind for it.

Though being a dog murderer was worse than being an adulterer. 

Wasn’t it? 

It was strange to walk around the Red Keep and down to the tilt listings when there was a feast and a tournament and all that celebration. Even though it was busier than ever it did feel like Robb was more alone than usual. Everyone else might as well be puppets being dragged along set paths without the ability to interact.

“Holding up this morning?”

“Oh fuck me,” Robb put a hand to his heart, so lost in his own thoughts it was a surprise. “Were you hiding to shock me?”

“Yes,” Margaery replied, “did you reach for your sword?” She asked sarcastically, Robb glanced down and his hand had come to rest on the handle of his blade instinctively. “Were you going to cut me down my lord?” 

“Shut up,” he mumbled taking his hand from his sword a little embarrassed. 

“Loras is a ball of energy it’s unsettling. Renly on the other hand has drunk himself handicapped.”

“I saw him leave the feast last night. I presumed he was off to see your brother.”

“No. Loras was a bit disappointed about that. It happens if he was drinking all week out hunting trying to keep up with the King, it just caught up with him,” Margaery dismissed her poorly husband.

“Well that’s fine then. I’m more worried about sitting and drinking with the Lannisters.”

“Does your wife. Does her blonde hair and features remind you of the house?” She asked. Leaving the question hang there. Robb glanced over at her before answering and Margaery looked like she was trying to sound light and uninterested. Trying too hard.

“I try not to think about my wife.”

“Good,” she said quietly. He noticed that. She was the one who did come and rush to his tent after the melee. Robb really hadn’t thought about it much. He had been rushed from one crazed event to another the day before. Almost dying to sex in the tent to tending to his wounds to eating the feast and drinking to bed. On reflection though she was the one who cared. She was the only person who noticed what was happening seemingly. Just him and her and no one else.

“Honestly it came crashing down from the sky!” 

A servant’s loud conversation broke his train of thoughts. He slowed to listen. 

“I’m sure someone just dropped it in a hurry.”

“No! No! No! It fell right from up there!” The man pointed skyward.

“Let’s get to the tilts, hurry up I think, I can hear the crowds getting excited already,” Robb told Margaery wanting to flee the site of his aerial medical bombardment. She nodded and put an arm through his. He tensed up for a moment before realizing it was fine. A lord escorted a lady. It didn’t mean they were up to no good. Even though they were.

“Has your tent been taken down?”

“I think so. I don’t really deal with those things.”

“Shame.”

“Really? The tent eh? I thought you were a proper lady, the cold ground doesn’t seem like the proper place for a proper lady.”

“Who said I was a proper lady?” She asked with a wink. 

“Fair enough,” he chuckled.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“Where is the princess?”

“Down at the lists. A guard from her mother arrived to take her over this morning.”

“So your solar is definitely free?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well… The joust doesn’t pick up for a couple hours…”

They both had stopped, paused, thinking about it. Everything sensible in his head told him to just keep walking to the stands and take his seat and enjoy the tournament. However. However the sensible portion of his brain was overpowered rather easily.

 

-T-

“What is going on?”

“A tournament…” Jaime drawled. “I thought, as you oft remind me, you were the smart one.”

“I am and I know something more is afoot, what the hell happened with Robb Stark in the melee yesterday?” Tyrion pressed. “Why was Cersei angered by the departure of Lady Arryn? I’m your brother Jaime you need to tell me these things.”

“You think Cersei tells me these things?”

“Yes, don’t be evasive.”

“I don’t know Tyrion, I’m caught been you and her and I’m scared of her.”

“How would you feel if whatever your plan is backfires and I get killed in the scuffle,” Tyrion pressed. 

“Well… Yeah, fair enough, come on, let’s find somewhere more private.”

“This is private.”

“More private I said, listen!” Jaime walked off a little too quickly but slowed his pace for Tyrion as they went. “Is that water?” He pointed to the flask.

“Obviously not. Now is this private enough?”

“Yes.”

They were on the fields on the way to the tournament ground, no one was close to earshot and the crowds were cheering and braying at the action. That would cover their conversation. 

“So…” Tyrion prompted his brother. Jaime was never serious ever so now that he looked grim it was a shock. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said Cersei doesn’t tell me everything, however… It’s a little awkward for us.”

“How so? And why does Robb Stark need to die?”

“I don’t think he does. I’m not the biggest fan of his father but he seems fine I suppose,” Jaime shrugged. “Cersei however doesn’t like the idea of her daughter being married to a Stark.”

“Her daughter?”

“Not the time,” he snapped. “So that’s what’s happening there… However… Maybe it is the time actually, the fact Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella are… You know, means that there is a rather big secret buried in this city, a big secret which could lay our family name low. Now Cersei suspects that some people who have a vested interest in this secret being unleashed are trying to do so.”

“People know? I thought you were careful.”

“Well you know.”

“I’m your brother. Who else?”

“Well I’m pretty sure Varys and Littlefinger do. That doesn’t matter though, they won’t be telling anyone such things. It doesn’t suit their interests. However…”

Jaime paused as the crowd died down immediately. They both turned to look at the back of the stands and the crowds who stood around them. Silence was a worrying thing. Tournaments weren’t supposed to be silent. 

“Stop… Wait…” Tyrion called as Jaime jogged off his armor clinking really loudly in the quiet fields as he failed to keep up giving his skin of wine a sad look goodbye and tossing it to the ground.

***

Robert looked apoplectic. Jon Arryn had made an appearance and was whispering frantically in his ear. Tyrion did a quick scan of the audience. Cersei was missing. The Tyrells were all there, except the daughter, Myrcella and Tommen were absent but Joffrey was there. He made a note in case it was important.

Jaime pushed through the crowds roughly to reach the King. Tyrion was unable to make a path of his own and had to duck, dive and weave towards Robert and his Hand. He must have got to them a good three or four minutes after Jaime. 

“What’s happening?” He asked breathlessly, putting his hands on his knees and bending forward to regain his breath. 

“Lord Renly has been taken very ill,” Jon Arryn said softly. “The maesters believe he has eaten some boar with an infection.”

“Fucking hell,” Robert growled. “Fucking hell. Poor lad. I should visit him. Pause the tournament.”

Then Robert was gone in cloud of alcohol and rage as he was flanked by Baratheon troops. Tyrion’s physical inability had meant he had ran there for nothing. He panted for breath as Jon Arryn excused himself. 

“He’s not going to die is he?” He asked in between large mouthfuls of air. 

“I doubt it. Some rotten meat,” Jaime dismissed him. 

“If it were rotten meat or diseased boar then wouldn’t Robert be sick too?”

“Unlikely the wine in his gut probably dissolves any infection before it has a chance to spread. Don’t look at me like that, especially here,” Jaime hissed the last part. 

“Come on then.”

Tyrion didn’t believe for a second that Renly happened to get sick. 

***

“Jaime! Oh Tyrion, what?” Cersei spat. Tyrion had never seen his sister happy like that. She was so delighted to see her twin, but immediately that was gone when she saw him. “What is it?”

“A word please Cersei?” Jaime asked shutting the door behind him and locking the door. “I’ve dismissed the guard.”

“I don’t like him,” Cersei motioned through the door but ignored Tyrion, as if he was spectre. “The new captain, the replacement. Whatever his name is.”

“It’s been a day!” Jaime stressed. They sounded like a married couple bickering. Was this what they were like? “Give him a chance.”

“If you liked Vylar so much why did you try to get him to kill Robb Stark?” Tyrion asked her fixing her with his mismatched eyes. “He would still be swanning about if Stark hadn’t punched him half to death.”

“To death,” she snapped. “He died of his wounds this afternoon.”

“So you don’t deny you ordered the lads to kill Robb?”

“I’m not denying it nor am I confirming it. I’m not acknowledging your right to ask me anything.”

Jaime walked over to her and placed a hand on her arm and whispered something inaudible to her. Tyrion used the chance to pilfer her wine from a desk and drink deeply to make up for the measure which was lost earlier. He waited patiently until Jaime convinced Cersei to be reasonable. It was strange he was the least favorite of the Lannister children, yet he got the name Tyrion, Cersei had Cersei and Jaime was given the name Jaime. It didn’t match. 

“This is infuriating!” Tyrion finally cried out. “Did you poison Renly?”

“No!” Cersei looked offended. “Why would I care about the life of that ponce.”

Tyrion mulled things over for a moment. So Renly hadn’t been poisoned provided his sister wasn’t lying to him. However it was an evasive answer. It suggested he wasn’t the intended target. Thinking back to the feast he had been drinking and talking with his niece. He remembered Renly leaving. 

“Was Renly not the intended target?” He asked breaking his elder siblings mutterings. 

“Excuse me?” Cersei asked. She had heard him. Definitely heard him, that was thinking time. So Renly wasn’t the target. Renly was seated next to Robert. Robert was the target. 

“So you tried to poison Robert and Renly drank or ate what was meant for the King?” Tyrion asked nodding to himself. “Why? Why are you murdering your husband? I mean I won’t have to fight in the battles to come, neither will you, it’ll be Jaime so one of you answer.” 

“You know what!” Cersei rounded on him and began marching towards him before Jaime snatched her arm and stopped her. “What are you doing? You always take his side!” 

They had become teenagers again arguing and in fighting like idiots. However the consequences weren’t who would be in trouble with father this time around.

“I’m not taking his side, I’m taking our side. Our families side. He’s smart Cersei, smarter than me and even you, as much as you hate to hear it,” Jaime said in a calm voice as if talking to a skittish horse. “So involve him, he is family, you don’t have to be the best of friends but you respected our shared heritage.”

Cersei looked furious, she was shaking with rage. Tyrion was sure she was going to slap him across the face but she started to calm down and be still once again. Before nodding through gritted teeth and a furrowed brow.

 

-M-

“Fuck Robb, fuck there right there,” she moaned, bent over the princess’ writing desk it was clear. She must be a tidy person. It was Margaery’s idea, to lean over the desk and let Robb take her from behind. Their bodies crashed together at first but now she was just lying over the desk, her legs a little weak.

“There, it’s fine, inside me” she gasped through breathes and in one final crash in a crashing crescendo she collapsed with a whimper as Robb spilled inside her. Quivering from between her legs up to her head she fell sharply into pleasurable delirium momentarily.

“Fuck,” he growled into her ear leaning over her back still inside her he kissed her cheek. Her hair had stuck to her cheek from beads of sweat. “That was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded as he slid out of her with one final trembling sensation and another small gasp.

He pulled his trousers back up and fetched a goblet of water came back and pulled her up by the waist her dress falling back its original position and kissing her passionately and desperately. Breaking for air Margaery giggled and snatched the water. 

They leant their foreheads together, catch their breath in unison, smiling and exchanging small kisses and laughs right up until the door was opened. Well not opened at it was locked.

“Robb! It’s me open the door!” Myrcella called through the wood. 

They both looked up at each other in panic, both going pale white in unison now. Robb pointed to the bed. Margaery nodded. This was going to be degrading but what else could she do, there was no excuse for her to be in a locked solar. She got on her stomach on the floor and crawled under bed, it was a four poster bed and had long sheets draping on the floor. 

“One second,” Robb called. He sounded normal. That was good. He had just won a couple melees he ought to have stronger nerves for conflict and danger than she did. “Just getting dressed.”

This was a low point. 

“Hi princess,” he said as Margaery heard the lock slide and open. 

“Hi, what took you so long?”

“I was changing, you’re one to talk, you’re never naked in front of me.”

“Fair enough. The tournament has been suspended.”

“Suspended?”

“Uncle Renly is under the weather and been taken into care. They think he’ll be alright but father rushed off to check on him and they couldn’t continue…” Myrcella explained her unexpected appearance. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes I just didn’t have much else to do and mother wanted to talk to someone, something important.”

“Would you like to go for a walk perhaps?” Robb offered her. Margaery had to stop herself breathing a deep sigh of relief. She had already, in the small time, imagined that she would have to stay under there for hours until they ate, had sex; which would break her heart, then fell asleep. Though that depended on the princess’ response.

“I would actually. How are your wounds are they…” 

Their conversation trailed out as the door opened and they left together. 

“Shit,” Margaery muttered unable to hold it in anymore. Well that was awful. Probably the lowest moment of her life. Though if hiding under a princess’ bed was the lowest moment of her life she hadn’t had the worst life. She counted to sixty in her head. Then started again and once more. That should be three minutes. 

She slid out and rushed to the door before remembering and ran back to Myrcella’s desk and reaching underneath to get her small clothes which Robb had torn off. 

Margaery ripped open the door only to run straight into Jon Arryn. Her heart almost exploded with panic once more. 

“My lord,” she whimpered. It was amazing how quickly things had changed from whimpering in pleasure one moment and then again in fear the next.

“My lady, is Lord Stark around?” He asked. He was a kind man and was being kind but she was scared. She didn’t feel fear. It was an alien feeling. 

“He just left.”

“Right. So… I…” He stopped and paused for thought. The man looked old. He was old, but his age was catching up to him dramatically. “I do need to talk to your family actually. This is awkward. I’m an old man,” no kidding she thought, “but I… Can we speak? Your family and me?”

“Yes.. Alright, you came here for me? Did you know I would be here?” She asked her heart thumping, she had to ask.

“I was here for Lord Stark, however… Look I also need to speak to your family.”

She just nodded.

***

“Lord Arryn! What a pleasure to receive you here in our little sliver of Highgarden,” Mace boomed.

Her father, her grandmother and Margaery herself were at the table. Jon Arryn had insisted that she remain despite both her excusing herself and her father suggesting she left. Olenna Redwyne just said she was staying and that was that.

“Yes, thank you Lord Tyrell, I wish I was here under better circumstances,” Jon Arryn accepted the offered cup of wine from a server but shot her father a look which indicated that ears which didn’t belong to those at the table should go. “Lord Renly has been taken ill.”

“I’ve heard I’m sure he’ll recover he’s a healthy, strong young man.”

“He is, however I doubt he will recover. In fact I think this may be it for him,” the Hand of the King said coldly. “I’m sorry to tell you this but this information is of the utmost importance and secrecy.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Mace keep your voice down and listen,” Olenna snapped. “Please continue lord hand.”

“Thank you my lady, now, now where was I?” Jon asked rubbing his face like a man who hadn’t slept in days. “Yes, I suspect Lord Renly won’t make it more than a couple more days. He will be declared dead from food poisoning. However I and Lord Stannis suspect that it would be Jarrin root.”

“What?” Mace asked. He looked pale now.

“It’s a poison an expensive one which mimics food poisoning,” Olenna interrupted. “Once more please Lord Arryn go on. I think our families’ involvement in this is what matters.”

“Yes it does. It also involves your daughter.”

“Me?”

“Yes my lady. I know, however it came to me I can’t remember, but I know that Renly wasn’t the man for you.”

Her skin was crawling with cold needles. This was a terrible position to be in. Her husband was apparently going to die and that wasn’t even the pressing issue.

“I have proof. Actual proof that the children of the King, are not his children,” the Lord of the Vale continued. 

“Sorry?” Mace spluttered.

“What?” Olenna spluttered too, it was the first time ever that Margaery had heard her wrong footed. “Sorry?”

“The Queen’s children I should say are not Robert’s.”

This was realm changing. This was war creating. This was Kingdom breaking. Margaery was sitting at a table while the future of… Future of everything was being discussed. She didn’t have a clue why she was needed. She was too deep in her trauma. From almost being caught by a princess to being caught by the Hand of the King to being involved in this weighty conversation. 

“You are sure of this?” Olenna took over the conversation as she ought to. Her father was out of it. Looking dazed his mind working but not making words yet not even thoughts yet. 

“Yes. Completely.”

“So his children are illegitimate?” 

“They are.”

Jon and Olenna both looked at her and Margaery shifted uncomfortably not sure where to look as both of these important elderly, seasoned figures fixed her with a gaze. 

“What? Why are you staring at me?” She finally broke the silence.

“Think girl, remember what I always tell you.”

“I can’t. I can’t right now!” She almost cried out, the stress becoming too much. 

“You’ve just told her her husband is passing! Have some compassion man,” her father stepped in on her behalf and Margaery’s heart went out to him in silent gratitude.

“We need to act quickly and I need to know your families’ allegiances,” Jon said. “You hold the second largest amount of swords in the capitol and where you place yourself will decide the realm.”

“I’m not following…”

“I am,” Olenna stepped in again. “So you believe that Margaery should be remarried and that marriage would secure us on one side of this, your side to be precise?”

“Pretty much. Considering that certain, erm, say relationships have developed naturally why not seize upon them?”

This was all aloof to Margaery, she normally prided herself on being intuitive but the world was screaming past her at breakneck speed and she couldn’t find and pick out then work the thoughts in the whistling tunnel she was dashing through uncontrollably.

“Margaery?” her grandmother nudged her. 

“Sorry?”

“Is that acceptable?”

“Is what? Sorry I’m lost.”

“Marrying again.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?”

Suddenly the breakneck speed stopped with a thud and a crash. The scramble of colors which made up her messy mind’s eye focused and she knew what was meant.

“That’s fine with me,” she repressed a chuckle. It wasn’t the time for laughter. This was serious, it was a very serious situation and there would be chaos and blood but she was getting what she wanted if it all worked out perfectly. 

“Well my lord Tyrell the decision ultimately falls to you…” Jon Arryn said seriously.

“I’m sorry but I’m lost a little bit here.”

“Will you consent to your daughter marrying Robb Stark?” Jon asked. There it was, stated clearly and out there in an official term, an official offer. Her heart fluttered. Margaery fixed her father with a look waiting with baited breath.

“I… I… Well…” Mace stammered.

“Do you love him sweetie?” Olenna broke her father’s babble. She looked at her with a tenderness which make her itch. All Margaery could do was nod while not looking at anyone. She hadn’t even told him that yet. She didn’t know she did until it was presented so bluntly. She did though. 

“Then are at an agreement?” Jon asked them.

“Mace?”

“I’m a little lost. This is a lot of information to swallow in five minutes.”

“You need to son, remember you’re the Warden of South and High Marshall of the Reach! Act!” Olenna spoke to her son in a manner Margaery had never heard. It was inspiring instead of demeaning. Her house would be in real trouble if it weren’t for the Queen of Thorns.

“Do you want to marry Robb Stark?” Mace asked her. He sounded unsure and confused. Once more she just nodded. 

“I guess you won’t need that moon tea anymore,” Olenna said quietly. Mace didn’t hear, he was perplexed his mind racing, Jon Arryn noticed however. 

“Well my lord hand you have the support of House Tyrell.”

The handshake. 

 

-R-

“You seem a little off my lord.”

“I feel off, I think it might be my ribs.”

“Another injury. It is pleasant this evening isn’t it?” Myrcella asked as they stopped to look out on the city from a vantage point in the Red Keep. “I hope Uncle Renly is recovering.”

So did Robb actually. For very selfish reasons. If he died then Margaery would be remarried and might be shipped off to Dorne or the Iron Islands or the Vale. Probably not actually. However she would be remarried to someone away from the capitol.

“I’m sure he is. He’s a Baratheon they’re hard to kill,” Robb replied trying to be neutral. 

“We’re.”

“Sorry?”

“We are. I’m a Baratheon silly!”

Of course she was, Robb didn't think of his wife as a Baratheon. She didn’t have the dark hair or facial features of that house. She didn’t have much of a connection to her father. 

“Princess, my lord!” 

Robb turned quickly. Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard with two red cloaks approached. His back went up immediately. Glad to have his sword. 

“Yes?” He replied eyeing them up. They looked serious. This wasn’t good.

“Can you come with us please?”

“Certainly, I’ll see you back at our chamber husband,” Myrcella said happily, oblivious to the heighten air created by the arrival of a Kingsguard.

“Not just you princess, Lord Stark would you accompany us too?”

No! His mind screamed no. Do not go with them. Do not.

“I would rather not,” he replied trying to sound polite while squaring up to the three men.

“It isn’t a request.”

“Whether it is or isn’t I’m declining it.”

“You can’t deny it.”

“Either way I am.”

Meryn Trant’s sword scrapped from its sheathe. Robb had his out first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay Bolton. This guy killed people. He killed a lot of people.  
>  Not clean though.  
>  Flaying.  
> House Bolton.  
>  Our Knives   
>  Are Sharp.  
> The skin... It Went.   
> The Soul.... Stayed. Just.  
> He peeled people's   
>  skin and organs. He fucked them first.  
>  cut them open so well they stayed alive.  
> when just alive he fucked what was.
> 
> LEFT!
> 
> In secret, deep,  
>  deep, in the dark,   
>  dark of the woods,  
> He tried it.  
> It.  
>  IT!  
> The taste of human flesh. He peeled and ate the flesh, fucking all which remained tether to the darkness he worked in. The cold of his knife, the cold in the air... I mean this guy was a real jerk.


	13. -1-3-

-M-

She hadn’t felt like a bad person when cheating on her husband. She really hadn’t. It wasn’t like he loved her and she spurned him and threw that relationship and that compassion back in his face. He never wanted her. He never touched her even. The only man who had been with her was the man who she had cheated with. However now things were a bit different. 

Margaery hadn’t left the gardens yet. Her father was blustering around, gathering his guards and getting Loras back safe to Tyrell grounds. Mace was taking it in stride a bit. With help from his mother. Was there going to be a battle in the Red Keep? It didn’t seem likely. The military commanders of the respective parties were all miles away. Eddard Stark up North, Tywin Lannister out West and Randyll Tarly down South. 

It seemed too much.

Renly wasn’t a bad man. He was a good one if anything. Her brother truly cared for him. He truly cared for her brother. That was the problem. He had zero interest in her. Which developed into reciprocacy. 

Would her brother return soon? He needed to be back here! If he were safe then that would rest her mind from worrying. Loras was probably doing what she ought to be doing. He was probably in her solar at her husband’s sickbed. If Renly was poisoned and this wasn’t some peculiar dream she was imagining to fulfil her fantasies. A dream which took a dark twist. To teach her a lesson about getting what her heart desired. 

Where was Robb on top of that. He had led the princess away to stop her being caught with him, him with her. Was he currently held captive or dead?!

Was Loras?! Did he give himself up to the Lannisters by not returning to the Tyrell gardens?!

Margaery’s head started spinning and all of the oxygen left and she collapsed. Not fainting, but losing her ability to stand by herself. Things span violently around and made her sick, stomach tossing and turning. Someone unknown to her helped her to her feet and there were questions being asked but she was unable to focus on them.

“Margaery! Are you alright?” 

“Hmm,” she mumbled. “Yes,” opening her eyes and raising her head from her hands, her father was above her, her mother had arrived also. Her grandmother hadn’t moved from the gazebo but someone had brought her a pile of paper and a quill. “Can I have some water?”

“Water!” 

***

Her mother was a bit in shock. The situation had been exposed; the plottings and the wheeling and dealings that she hadn’t been a party to. It was all getting easier to swallow. That or she couldn't panic anymore. 

“Where is Loras?” Her mother asked. She had a few times and received no reply. “This is crazy Mace send out some men to find him and bring him back.” 

“Fine, fine, go, now Margaery I want a word with you,” Mace said to her. She looked up still dazed just nodded and stood to follow her father.

“Give her a moment dear, she needs a break,” Alerie said but was waved off. 

“Now you need to start explaining things to me right now,” Mace whispered through gritted teeth. He was angry. She rarely saw him angry. He was always in a good mood so this was actually worrying for her. “I don’t want any excuses or lies.”

“Explain what?”

“You know what. Robb Stark? Moon tea?”

“Well… Do we need to discuss this now?”

“Yes.”

“I… Father, please,” Margaery pleaded with him this was a horrendous to speak about especially with her father. 

“No, not father please, none of that, this has all come to a head rather suddenly.”

“Does it ever happen with a long build up with plenty of preparation time?”

“Don’t you dare get smart with me young lady,” Mace seethed. “So you broke your wedding vows. Fouled the marriage of a princess to boot!”

“Yes… Well she isn’t a princess is she? If she isn’t legitimate?” Margaery strained to find something to bring her father back on side.

“You didn’t know that when you were acting like a little whore did you?” Her father spat. His words were like a hammer blow to her chest. Just nasty and accusational. “I don’t even want to imagine how you acted to lure a Stark of all people into breaking their honor! My word girl didn’t I raise you properly? Didn’t I raise you to be a proper lady? This is how you act? Unbelievable. Moon tea? So you weren’t even careful? This is… Putting me in this position… Do you think I want to talk to you about these things? No father does.”

“Sorry…”

“Sorry…” He repeated mulling the word over in his mouth. “So you would sneak out on Lord Renly, the King’s brother! No doubt about that, he is the King’s brother, and soil your reputation?”

“He… He never touched me father, not once, Robb is the only man…” Margaery left it there hoping the implication would be enough to infer everything. 

“Are you telling me the brother of the King didn’t touch you? To make this better?! Pfft,” he made ridiculous and infuriating dismissive gesture. “Unlikely.”

“How are you so blind?” Margaery shot back. Angered now by her father’s rudeness as deserved as it maybe. “You really don’t know do you?” He looked blankly back at her. “Renly didn’t touch me, he hasn’t touched any women, women aren’t his… thing.”

“Oh come off it,” he said, the anger was gone now, he really couldn’t maintain rage for very long thankfully. 

“No. I’m serious,” Margaery was considering dropping Loras’ name but bit her tongue and decided against it rather quickly. That would be cruel of her. Using her brother as a shield to get out of a telling off. “Loads of people know it! Grandmother knows it!” She was getting exasperated. It didn’t matter if she had done something wrong she didn’t want to be punished for it.

“Right… Right…” Her father took that new information on board. “We’ll discuss this later.”

 

-S-

“I’ve been trawling through the underbelly of the Flea’s Bottom, I’ve got some knife men for you.”

“How many?”

“Say twenty, some promised more but these men, they boast, they drink and they boast some more.”

“Twenty? Not enough. Not enough at all.”

“I can return and snoop around more and more.”

“No time.”

There was a knock on the door and the guardsmen in the room drew their swords. The atmosphere was heightened, on a knife’s edge. Stannis nodded to Ser Patrek, a knight in his service who he trusted, to open the door. It was Jon Arryn flanked by two guards and a knight of his own. The soldiers shared nods. The knight he had brought was young, too young and Stannis didn’t recognize him.

“So?” He asked the Hand of the King brusquely.

“I spoke to the Tyrells and they’re on side.”

“Good, not that it should be good they should know their duty.”

“Well either way they are. Margaery Tyrell will marry Robb Stark if the worst happens with your brother.”

“Speaking of Stark what did he say?”

“I didn’t find him. I found Margaery Tyrell sneaking out of his chamber when I went to speak to him.”

“Did you now… So we need to find him. Find him before the Lannisters do.”

“If they’re even looking.”

“Of course they are. Sneaky sorts. They have more spies in this city than anyone but the Spider. You!” Stannis, “Davos, find Stark tell him to come here.” 

“Yes my lord.”

“Or to the Tyrell gardens,” Jon added, of course Stark would rush off there. “I have placed several men and my own maester at Renly’s room. He may recover if treated properly. Loras Tyrell refuses to leave his side. He’s a good friend to your brother.”

“Good. For the sake of the mother who bore us I hope he does, if he doesn’t… Well we’ll deal with it as it comes, now where is the King?” 

“With some ladies of… Well you know what sort of ladies. With the joust suspended he wanted to make sure he could still squeeze some fun out of his name day celebrations.”

“Typical. I bet he has no idea what is happening. We need to get to him and let him know,” Stannis declared. “Now.”

“Not now? It’s late. We need Stark first.”

“Why not both?”

“Look… The King has had a lot of booze, he is… This isn’t the best time.”

“The city and this castle is on a knife’s edge, we don’t know what our enemies are doing, we don’t know what they plan on doing and most importantly we don’t know what they want.”

“We also don’t know what they know,” Jon replied testing Stannis’ patience. “If we started leaping around with soldiers and knights and swords then who knows what will happy. Finesse is the key here. What if we rush headlong into something and that unpleasant man… Janos Slynt and his gold cloaks are already poised, pockets brimming with Lannister gold, to strike? That would be it. We would be dead. Our names poisoned posthumously and the city and the realm handed over to a bastard King.”

“I don’t like this Jon,” Stannis made clear.

“Neither do I. I haven’t liked much of my life since I called my banners for your brother and Eddard Stark but I have done what is needed of me, no one can deny!” Jon became suddenly animated, some of that life force returning momentarily to him. “Let me ask you this, would want that? Then what would happen? The Lannisters rule the South. Maybe, maybe The North and The Riverlands rise in revolt for the honor of our dead bodies. We won’t know.”

“No. No we won’t. Your way… Fine, bloody fine, your way for now Jon but we act sooner rather than later.”

Stannis was ready. His wife and his daughter had been smuggled out of the Red Keep by Davos early on Friday morning and would be at Dragonstone by morning tomorrow. He was ready for the end if it came to that.

“Davos get back out there then, find as many as possible,” he ordered his right hand man. He nodded and slipped out of the room, taking routes Stannis and no one else would know.

“I’m going to place some spies around the King’s solar,” Jon nodded as he too went to leave. “In case the worst happens. It most likely won’t the King is heavily guarded with loyal men.”

“It wouldn’t if we act now as would be proper,” Stannis spat back. Jon Arryn just shot him a reserved look and a sad shake of his head making his leave. “Keep your armor on tonight,” he addressed those still remaining. “There maybe need for it and more.”

“Yes my lord.” Came the chorused answer.

-R-

“What are you doing?!” Myrcella screeched in a very commanding tone Robb would not have expected from her. “Put your swords down now!” Looking unsure the three men did lower their blades slightly and exchanged looks. 

“You were told to fetch you and Lord Stark princess,” Ser Meryn Trant said gruffly not taking his off Robb. 

“Well he isn’t coming. So put your weapons away! He’s my husband and you think that is appropriate in the Red Keep? In front of the princess?!” 

“Sorry princess,” Ser Meryn looked confused now as he put his sword into his sheath and the two red cloaks followed suite. “You are wanted for by the crown though Lord Stark remember that and think on whether this is a direction you wish to decline.”

“I will but I’m still declining,” Robb said determinedly lowering but not storing his own sword. His heart was thumping what the hell was that about? He watched the now party of four walking off away. Right… What should he do now… Go back to his solar? Though if that escalated so severely with his wife present a second request to go to the Queen would be harder to refuse when alone.

He started walking without a place to go. His head still swimming. That was a lot in a short space to process. He thought he had just got out of being caught as an adulterer and then he almost came to blows with the bloody Kingsguard.

Well Meryn Trant, the lowest of the Kingsguard. Still that heavy gold, silver and enamel plate metal would be tricky to fight against in a tunic. Even in his most confident moments he wouldn’t have liked those odds. 

As Robb walking really quickly, deciding as he went to find his own men. That was smart. That was the right choice to make, he would be harder to threaten if not alone. 

***

“Everyone is armed my lord,” Alyn told him as he fitted a metal guard around his wrist, a tip he got from his father. 

“Don’t look suspicious,” Robb commanded. “We don’t know what is happening at all. If anything is happening or Meryn Trant was just overzealous.”

“With all that has happened to you my lord I think we should err on the side of caution.”

“Well if the Northerns are seen walking around armored and eye armed while shooting everyone else dirty looks. I just can’t see that helping anything,” Robb explained. “Just stay ready. Train. Clean weapons, patrol, you know keep it normal.”

“My lord,” Alyn bowed his head and backed out of the barrack where Robb’s guard were housed. 

So what happened now? He asked his men to get themselves armed but he had no reason past do it because I told him. He was so terrible at the politicking and sneaking around that one needed in the capitol that he didn’t know if there was something happening behind the official facade of the court. This is why his grandfather and uncle died in this place. Was he just another Stark who was to be lost in the South? No. He gripped his hand around the guard on his wrist; that wouldn’t happen to him.

Alyn came back in only after a minute, hurrying over to Robb’s side.

“My lord, a man claiming to be a knight is here asking for an audience.”

“Claiming to be?”

“Well he says he’s Ser Davos Seaworth, but he is dressed in plain leathers and fabrics my lord,” Alyn explained. “I thought if he was suspicious then best not to let him in straight away.”

“I’ve heard the name,” Robb nodded and motioned the man by the door to open the barrack. A man who did not look at all like a knight entered his barrack with a polite nod to the man who held the door for him. “Ser Davos Seaworth?” The man nodded. “You’re Stannis’ man aren’t you?”

“Aye,” he nodded once more. “I have to be quickish though, I’m heading to Flea Bottom. A word in private my lord?”

Robb sighed a bit annoyed by the request but dismissed those present regardless. “Go on. Then as you said quick.”

“Right, please find Lord Stannis, Lord Tyrell or the Hand of the King, join forces with them as soon as you can.”

“This comes from Lord Stannis correct?”

“Correct.”

“Very well, thank you ser.”

“My lord,” Ser Davos bowed his head a bit and turned quickish on his heel and left the barrack. Right. Well who would he go to? As if it were a choice. The Tyrell gardens weren’t far. Closer than the other two. 

Alyn rushed back in with the departure of Davos. 

“Fetch my armor, and get us ready to move.”

 

-T-

So he was little the wiser to what was happening. Jaime had moved clumsily through something about people finding things out which were bad and not good. Then Cersei, despite being pressured by Jaime to tell him what was going on, she had snapped at them both. Saying that it would be smart, if Tyrion were so smart, to stay up in the Lannister compound and keep the door locked.

That placed him in a difficult position. Despite going to his solar surrounded by Lannister guards who were running around looking on edge. He didn’t feel safe. There was so obviously something afoot and the fact he was in the dark about it meant a door and some spears didn’t make him feel too safe. How could he when he didn’t know the threat? Was this some full scale coup? To take on the entirety of the guards of every other house in the Capitol? Or just some minor, cloak and dagger subterfuge for whom the soldiers are just a fall back plan for a possible failure.

There were many whispered conversations been had. It was especially hard for him to listen in on these, being further from head height than others. 

Finding Jaime Tyrion dragged him aside. Myrcella had arrived and was smuggled into her mother’s chamber in the meantime.

This was ludacris. 

“What the fuck?” Tyrion whispered through tightly clenched teeth.

“What?”

“Don’t what me! You know what, there is no what here. We’re all holing up in our compound just for fun. It’s Saturday night lockup!” He had trouble keeping his voice down. Cersei seemed to have a similar problem as him as he, along with most soldiers within twenty yards, could hear her. Ser Meryn Trant, the lumbering oaf, had brought Princess Myrcella back and the Queen was screaming at him for something. The details he could not quite hear.

“Glad I’m not him.”

“Don’t try to be funny, what is happening, clear and simple please?”

“Well it would appear that some tensions have arisen in our beloved home away from home,” Jaime smirked. “Lord Stannis and Lord Arryn may have mistaken ideas about something.”

“Mistaken? Oh dear I wonder how they could have come to such a misunderstanding.”

“Who knows. We have the city guard and the Kingsguard.”

“The Tyrells too if you were smart!” Tyrion snapped.

“They don’t have a horse in this fight.”

“No but they could, if Renly dies and Margaery needs a new husband why not Joffrey?” Tyrion suggested. Poor girl he hated to do that to her but a royal connection would create a strong tie around the capitol which would protect him from harm. Which came first.

“Well… I don’t know, maybe suggest it to Cersei,” Jaime shrugged. Tyrion stamped on his toe. “Ow! Fine, alright I’ll do it.”

“I offer up my help and you refuse it and Cersei insults me only for you not to plan much more past get swords,” Tyrion drawled. “My life hinges on your actions as well and I have a strong desire to keep on living. Even if that means helping out my sister.”

 

-M-

Pacing was no fun. Why did men do it when they were stressed or pondering something? Her feet were sore. Loras hadn’t been seen in hours. Stannis’ guards had taken vigil outside of what was her solar too where the youngest Baratheon, her husband, was dying. So she paced. Sitting down was itchy. Her skin crawled and her feet couldn’t stay still and didn’t know what to do with her hands. 

More and more men loyal to House Tyrell had dripped into the gardens as the afternoon turned into evening. They would have been out in the city or around the Red Keep. Everyone was armed. Her father was fretting about Loras now. Still lost in the Red Keep. Still with her husband. Under the protection of Stannis Baratheon, a man her father would not treat with.

So Loras was lost to the family until he decided to return or something happened out in the castle. 

“Men approaching,” a man called down the hedgerows of the garden which led to the entrance path. Even over the sea and the air passing through the foliage the sound of metal clinking. Friend or foe… An idea shared by the others in the garden who brandished weapons and made their way over to the entranceway. 

This was the last place a lady ever wanted to find herself in life. 

It made her skin burn while her insides went ice cold as swords were dragged out of sheathes. The metal scrape, a jarring horrible noise. She rushed to the gazebo almost tripping and huddling with her mother and grandmother already huddling uselessly.

“Stand down,” a voice she didn’t recognize called and all the concern in the air disappeared in the blink of an eye. “Let ‘em through!” Her father went hurrying down to the entrance. 

It was infuriating hearing the sound of voices and not knowing what was being said. Loras must have returned or Jon Arryn. It wasn’t some gold cloak swarm coming to arrest them for conspiring against the realm. 

Her heart almost exploded when Robb Stark marched into the heart of the garden in full plate steel, with armored men in silver mail with grey woolen cloaks pinned around their shoulders carrying round shields and long spears. He looked like a Knight up close in his full armor with the snarling direwolf chiseled into his left pauldron. She hadn’t seen him in his armor when it hadn’t been coated in mud or gore. It was still dented from the melee yesterday but cleaned impeccably. 

“As glad as I am you here Lord Stark we need a word!” Mace said to him. It didn’t look right, her middle aged, overweight father trying to boss around the younger man. This was going to be really awkward and horrible. Maybe she would be excused from it. “Come join us at the table. You stay,” her father pointed at Margaery as she stood up to sneak away. 

“Do you know what’s happening Lord Tyrell?” Robb asked, looking behind from the gazebo to the now rather considerable number of armed men loitering in the Tyrell gardens. “I was almost attacked by the King’s guard then told to find you or Jon Arryn.”

“I’m glad you came to us. Where is your wife?”

“The King’s guard wanted both of us to see the Queen but I refused, they drew their swords then decided against killing me over it.”

Things were really going to pot just a few hundred yards away. 

“I got armed and came here,” Robb continued. 

“I see. Well we had a visit from Jon Arryn…” Her father went on to explain the circumstances. Renly’s condition, Stannis and Arryn armed and the Lannister’s betrayal of the King. “So there are choices to be made when something like this happens. A man in my position has to consider all options and the consequences. So I’m sure you could imagine how angering it could be for me to find out these options have been decided for me. Behind my back.”

“I don’t follow,” Robb frowned. He literally had no idea that her father knew. 

“Jon Arryn, when he was here, he said if Lord Renly passes, then a marriage for my daughter would be you.”

“I’m married.”

“No. Didn’t you listen to what I said about the Queen?!”

“Right, yes, right,” he nodded slowly. “Sorry this is a lot to process in a short space of time.”

“Well hurry up and catch up. So my daughter was suggested. Do you have an idea why?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Can you not? Can you not?!” Mace spluttered. 

“Look lad, we know, about you and Margaery,” Olenna interrupted her son’s minor breakdown of sputtering and consternation. His face drained with what little color he had. “So… Do you consent?”

“This is… Look I mean I don’t know about…” Robb stumbled around his response, taken utterly by surprised. Would he say no? She didn’t think so. Though, the fact he hadn’t just said yes immediately did worry her a bit in the pit of her stomach. “Illegitimate?” He finished on. Lost.

“You forsake your honor for my daughter and her wedding vows!” Mace managed to find his voice again. “Then you… You…” Oh there it was gone again. 

“Renly is still alive no?” Robb asked.

“Jon Arryn believes that won’t be the case very soon.”

“Right…” He rubbed his face. Just say yes you idiot. Margaery willed him. 

“Robb,” she spoke up as silence descended over the table for a moment too long. Just Robb thinking, her father staring at him angrily and her grandmother waiting pretending to be patient but clearly bored waiting. Everyone looked up at her and momentarily lost confidence. “Can we have a moment together?” She asked her father and grandmother. 

“I think you’ve had enough ‘moments alone!’ He fumed.

“Oh shut up Mace, they’re hardly going to start rutting her in front of us all, now come on, I need to have a word with you about getting me away from here. This is no place for me,” Olenna got up and tugged at her son’s sleeve getting him to move and leave with her.

Margaery slid over the seating around the stone table in the gazebo so she was closer to Robb. Still keeping more of a distance than she would have normally. He was a statue.

“Hey,” she nudged him and he looked up at her. “What you thinking?” She asked trying to be light and coax him out of his sombre mood.

“Just I didn’t eat lunch…”

“What are you actually thinking? This isn’t the time for me to politely pretend you’re funny,” she smirked at him and he broke a small smile but twitched his mouth left to right to hide it.

“This is a lot of information to be dumped on you. I thought things were a bit much when Myrcella returned to the chamber. Then I thought it couldn’t get worse than when Meryn Trant confronted me. Then having your father ambush me with illegitimate children, nullifying my marriage, the whole Renly situation, it’s a lot,” Robb opened up to her, speaking lowly.

“So you don’t know?”

“Of course I know. Do you know?”

“Yes!” She stressed. 

“Was that a yes as in yes we should or yes you know?”

“Yes we should.”

“Right. Yes we should then. Fuck. Poor Myrcella.”

“Don’t talk about Myrcella now.”

“It’s a bit… Much… Who is her father I wonder?”

“Again let’s not talk about her now.”

“Renly is still alive, barely by the sounds, but he’s breathing.”

“Another person we shouldn’t talk about.”

“The King? What is happening with him? Has anyone heard from him?”

“Don’t worry about the King this moment.”

“Then who should I worry about?”

“Yourself. Me. Just us.”

“Just us?”

She nodded and he smiled a lopsided smile back and nodded. Just as Robb was opening his mouth to reply Mace came back.

“That’s enough time. We have another visitor. Even less of a pleasant sight than Lord Stark.”

Oh brilliant. Margaery rolled her eyes. Great timing dad.

 

-S-

It seemed just right that Mace Tyrell would have chosen some silly garden for his base of operations. Whimsical surroundings for a not serious man. The Tyrell guards eyed him with suspicion. Stannis wondered if any of these men were old enough to have been outside the walls of Storm’s End during the rebellion. He hoped they would not be foolish as to chose the wrong side once again. 

“Lord Stannis,” Mace greeted him coldly. Wobbling still from the brief walk. Robb Stark was with him. So Davos delivered his message promptly, that was good. 

“Lord Tyrell. We have to speak.”

“Very well but your men can stay here.” 

“Fine,” Stannis spat annoyed at the disrespect. The Stark men were clearly invited into the gardens and walking around and resting where as his would be treated with suspicion. A petty move from a petty man. A big man who cast a thin shadow. “Lord Arryn came to you then?”

“Yes.”

“Good he should be here soon too.”

“I don’t believe I agreed that I would host all parties.”

“Well this evening hasn’t been planned as meticulously as you may have been lead to believe,” Stannis snapped back. 

“No.”

“My men are moving Renly here too,” Stannis told him.

“My son?”

“Presumably will come too unless it is the room he has grown a great attachment too.”

“Can Renly move?” Robb Stark spoke up. He ought to have greeted Stannis as his superior on the council. Now wasn’t the time to correct manners though.

“He can’t move, he can’t stay there either.”

“Does the King know?”

“No,” Stannis looked at Stark angrily. “The Hand is dealing with the King in his own time.”

“Do you know when the Hand will be arriving?” Mace spoke again.

“No. We don’t need to speak for the sake of it,” Stannis informed them. “I am content with silence.”

***

“Robb, good to see you safe and sound,” Jon Arryn ignored him, even his host Mace Tyrell to focus on Stark, pulling him aside and exchanging hushed words while the Lannisters were doing who knows what. He waited with his arms crossed, tapping his foot and grinding his teeth waiting for them to stop having some fatherly chat. 

“Finally,” he grumbled when they returned to the standing circle in the rose garden. Him, Mace, Jon, Stark. “Tyrell you have a maester?”

“Yes he is…”

“Send for him now to tend to my brother.”

“Very well.” It was clear he wanted to object for the sake of it but had to help, he waddled off and back, worried he might be left out of any scheming. “Now is this it then? The war council.”

“This isn’t necessarily a war council,” Jon Arryn was quick to say. Mace Tyrell certainly wouldn’t be here if it was. “I don’t necessarily know what it is. I just know that circumstances have overtaken us.”

“Gathered secretly should give you a clue that isn’t a meeting to decide…” Mace petered out unable to think of an example. “We have enough swords here combined to arrange a coup.”

“This isn’t a coup,” Stannis quickly corrected him. “A coup would suggest we were in the wrong. Apart from some improper paths taken to get here,” which he did not approve of, “this is the side of right.”

“I can’t help but notice Lord Stannis that this not coup of ours would make you the heir to the Iron Throne,” Mace rounded on him but couldn’t keep up his accusatory gaze for too long. 

“Whatever it makes happens it makes happen, I’m sure Robert can squeeze out several more heirs over the coming days alone,” Stannis informed him distastefully. “This time he should just choose a more honest Queen. So you needn’t worry about me being King.” Hand of the King though he deserved. Jon Arryn was too old and he was the clear and only choice.

“There are many girls in the Reach who would be honest and faithful to a King,” Mace mused stroking his fat chin. Already plotting how he could further his family.

“Judging by your daughter’s actions I don’t think we can take much stock in that assertment,” Stannis shot back. Jon sighed and groaned. Mace looked taken aback and Robb Stark fixed him with a disgusted look.

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

“I wasn’t gossiping Stark, I was stating facts was I not?”

“You were in a discourteous way, a purposefully discourteous way,” Robb said still frowning. The cheek of the boy to chastise him.

“Quite right that was most distasteful,” Mace added weakly.

“I’m going to tell you something my father told Robert and I,” Stannis said flatly ignoring their whines. “What is the bigger number four or one?” He asked the three other lords. The answer four came back predicatively. “Four,” Stannis held up four fingers, “one,” he closed the fingers into a fist.

Jon Arryn went on at some length about the need for restraint and the importance of not letting a flame hit this tinder box if possible and that peaceful and decent outcome was what everyone was looking for. He had heard it from the Hand enough.

***

Renly was his was brother no matter how far apart they had drifted since childhood it was his duty to stand vigil for him. He looked weak, frail and lifeless. Laying on a makeshift bed, holding his stomach, with Loras Tyrell sitting next to him staring at him, never breaking his gaze. 

All pretences were just lost in this lost evening wasn’t it? Renly’s wife was yards away planning her marriage with her lover and without shame. While whatever the nature of Renly and Loras’ unwholesome relationship was at least the boy was staying with his brother as he clung to life.

Davos still hadn’t returned. When he did Stannis planned on moving into some sort of action.

 

-R-

His father once told him that a man could only be brave if he were scared. Now he wasn’t scared. However when the message came from the city he was currently in that King Aerys wanted his father’s head and suddenly the Vale was rising in revolt and a young Eddard Stark had to return to the North and march South at the head of an army. Did he take it in stride? Was it something he could just understand, process and get on with it.

If he could then Robb couldn’t. His mind was still a haze. Renly Baratheon’s groans of pain were too much and he had walked away from all the soldiers and lords to stare out into the sea. It was calming. Far more than soldiers who didn’t even like each other.

“Robb?” Margaery’s voice broke through his trance. She had placed a hand on his forearm but he couldn’t feel it through his steel gauntlets. “Are you alright?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why aren’t you sure if you’re alright? Tell me what you’re worried about.”

“Why aren’t you worried?” Robb turned to face her, she left her hands resting on the cold steel he was clad in. One on his chest and one on the crook of his arm. “Isn’t this a shock to you? Yesterday I was drinking at a feast now I’m huddled with a small army waiting to see. See something we don’t know. My marriage is null. We were found out.”

“Does it matter that we were?”

“Only for bad reasons. If Renly survives then I’m a complete prick and you’re tainted. So all of this rests on whether a man dies or not. A man who does not deserve to die at all.”

“No one is talking about taking pleasure in the death of another, just doing what is best with the roads available.”

Robb looked at Margaery with different eyes for a moment. He hadn’t really wondered about her motives. Was she ambitious, truly behind those doe eyes. No, he dismissed it quickly. It was this fucking place. It was poison. It poisoned your mind and made you look for conspiracies around every corner. 

“This has worked out for us! More than I ever thought I could it could.”

“That’s true,” Robb agreed, mulling things over he reacted to her hands leading him to place them either side of her waist and pull herself closer to him. 

“A high born marriage built on love is a rare thing to be cherished,” she murmured, almost purred into his breastplate, playing with the leather straps on it. 

“On love?”

She just looked up into his eyes, a small smile, a twinkle in her eyes. All his worries were forgotten as they kissed and her hands pulled at his hair, tugging him down. The world outside beyond disappeared, the gardens disappeared, it was just them, holding each other.

“I love you Robb Stark.”

“I love you too.”

This time they kissed slower and delicately. Right until a throat was cleared in their presence and they jumped apart like naughty children caught red handed as Alyn stood five yards away. 

“The Hand of the King has sent for you my Lord.”


	14. -1-4-

-M-

If there was a fight in the Red Keep would she be spared because she was a woman? If not then why was she excluded from hearing the conversations which determined her future. In reality Margaery was avoiding going to her husband’s side. It really was the worst of her, she didn’t want him to survive. It was selfish, pure and simple. However if he died then she got the man she wanted. If there was a war and she was on the winning side Robb could be made the Master of… Something which was higher ranked, a man of prominence. Maybe even be the Hand of the King one day. 

All those dreams seemed so close, she could taste them, if only they weren’t mixed with Renly’s ashes. 

“Loras,” she whispered, nudging her brother. He was in his jousting clothes minus the plate armor, stooped over, crouching on the floor next to the makeshift bed made for Renly. She avoided looking at him. “Loras.”

He looked up at her, his eyes were red, he had been crying. “What?” He spat. It was harsh, if he was in anything close to the state she imagined it was fine. 

“How are you holding up?” She asked him trying to be supportive. 

“Worse than you.”

“Sorry.”

“You got what you want eh? Didn’t you Margaery. You can run off into the sunset with Robb Stark and I… I have nothing.”

She had nothing to say to that. He was allowed to be angry. It was just anger. Finally she looked at Renly. He looked weak, sick in his closely cropped beard and over the front of his shirt. The old maester she didn’t know was applying cold rags to his head. Renly convulsed violently, the worst thing was the silence. He was dying in silence. Was it cold of her to watch impassively? If it was then she was cold.

It was interesting to watch him clutch his stomach and the orange and yellow gunk come out of his mouth. In between breathes. His eyes were closed, the sweat running everywhere down his features. Once beautiful and handsome now reduced to nothing. A sight not often seen. She searched herself for emotion but found only a longing for a future. 

“What are you doing?” Loras turned to face her, standing up and actually squaring up to her. “You can go and find Stark. You don’t care. Actually that isn’t true is it dear sister?” Her brother spat the words ‘dear sister,’ out like it was toxic. “You do care. You’re delighted aren’t you?”

“Loras please.”

“Please what? Lie, pretend everything is fine? The man,” he paused and bit his lip. “The man,” he continued lowering his voice. “The man I love is dying in front of me and you want to pretend? This isn’t the time for pretending. The second he dies I’m drawing my sword and people are dying.”

Margaery stumbled and fumbled over words looking for anything to say. Nothing came to her. She just bowed her head and walked away. Trembling a bit. She did not deserve to be spoken to like that! Leave him to stew for now and get the apology later. 

All she could do was watch the other men plot together. Her father looked out of place. Robb looked serious, his armored arms crossed over his chest listening intently. She really wanted to get him to come over and comfort her from her brother’s cross words. He finally looked up at her and shot her a small smile. When he looked up a couple more times and saw that Margaery was trying to catch his eye he excused himself and walked over.

“Are you alright?” He asked placing his cold steel coated hand on her arm. Even though his touch was cold it was still warming. 

“No, not really Loras just shouted at me.”

“Oh, that’s what that was,” Robb glanced over at him and Renly. “He’s grieving. Let him.”

“I know, it’s just… We’ve never fought once and now… Well anyway he says if Renly passes he’s going to start killing Lannisters.”

“He’ll be restrained.”

“Hopefully.”

“I have to get back to the meeting, stay strong alright?” He squeezed her arm and smiled before turning back.

***

She had no idea how long had passed. It was night time, that was about it. All she knew. It could have been nine o’clock or it could have been two in the morning. She was getting chilly. The gardens weren’t meant to be used for standing around during the night. They weren’t meant for plotting or weapons. Still. 

Stannis Baratheon prowled past her without even noticing her. He walked up to Mace Tyrell and said something to him, then moving to Jon Arryn and Robb who were speaking, and said something to them before turning back on his route past her again. He paused on his heel and looked at her.

“My brother has died.”

Stannis kept walking back. That was that. Wait what? Margaery jolted to life. He was… It had happened. Renly Baratheon had died of his poisoning. If she was worried she might be cold then Stannis Baratheon was made from pure ice. Robb was by her side before she came properly to her senses. 

“So…” he said.

“So…” She replied.

That was it. All that they had to say. This was their marriage confirmed… It just seemed tasteless to realize that and jump for joy and kiss him hard. Despite willing herself not to be overjoyed at her husband’s death her hands had come up to rest on the metal fixings at his elbows.

“Well I guess some people are happy,” Loras stormed over to them. His eyes were red and there were tear marks on his cheeks. “Delighted aren’t you? Having trouble containing your excitement? You want to dance and kiss and jump for joy don’t you?”

Yes, a little. 

“No!” Margaery pretended to be offended. 

“Well you can fuck in the garden for all I care and while you two love birds enjoy your evening I’m going to do something,” Loras looked at her with such anger and dislike it disarmed her. He then went to storm off.

“Loras wait,” Robb grabbed his arm and in a flash Loras had punched him and his sword was scraping from his sheathe. “Hold on, calm down!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Loras spat at him. “My fucking life is fucked and I’ll kill anyone who stands in my way.” He went to leave again but Robb grabbed him and the free blade was swung at him, clinking off the metal uselessly. Robb drew his own sword. 

“What is the meaning of this!” Mace came rumbling over. “Put away your steel this moment! Both of you!”

“Sorry my lord,” Robb shoved his sword roughly into its sheathe but he didn’t drop his fighting stance. Thank the gods for his armor. Loras must have known his strike wouldn’t have done any damage. That was it. She knew he wouldn’t have swung otherwise.

Mace grabbed his son by the arm which he was using to hold his sword and drag him off. 

“That was… Different,” he said turning back to face her. She grabbed the top of his breastplate and pulled him down to kiss her. Their mouths smacking hard into each other. 

“Don’t get killed,” she murmured into his lips. “Please don’t.”

“I’ll try my best,” he replied in between hard, desperate kisses. He walked off to join the other men. Margaery could understand how lost Robb must have felt when he arrived in the garden. Events were overtaking her and becoming hard to process too, reality was taking on a very distinctly surreal tinge. 

She needed water… Or wine. Wine definitely wine and something to keep her up warm. Though the wine could do that.

 

-T-

His whole life Tyrion had wanted to avoid battle. It was one of the greatest benefits of being a dwarf. One of the only ones if anything; he wouldn’t be expected to lead a vanguard. He now had stumbled into a potential battle. Not even a pitched battle but a close quarters mess. Tyrion thought he was going to have a lovely few weeks away from Casterly Rock and get drunk on the most expensive, finest wines in the Seven Kingdoms. Instead he was huddled in a portion of the Red Keep his sister had taken over the last seventeen years with nervous men who couldn’t take their hands from their swords.

Jaime and Cersei were conspiring.

Never in his life had he wished for his father. Tywin Lannister would have an amazing plan which would deliver some devious hammer blow to their enemies. Whoever they were. Instead he had to rely on his sister’s wits and hope beyond hope that his brother could, for once, take something seriously. Actually Tywin Lannister would have sniffed out any conspiracy and stopped such recklessness before it started. Not dashed headlong into a mess of his own creating like his daughter so gleefully had. 

“Tyrion,” Jaime called him from a cracked door. “Come.”

Oh finally. He was being included. Though it was hardly unlikely he was going to be taken seriously and his wisdom would be appreciated. Tyrion suspected he was going to be told to shut up and do what he was bid to do and that would be that. 

“Good evening dear brother, dear sister!” He said as he closed the door Jaime had opened for him. “What a lovely time I’m having surrounded by our loyal men.”

“See,” Cersei leapt on him immediately. “See, he can’t take this seriously.”

“Listen to him.”

“Why should I listen to you?! You’re just as bad. Neither of you have ever taken it seriously have you? It’s all fallen to me!” Cersei raged. “This isn’t the time for jokes. This isn’t the time for your hilarious antics Tyrion!”

“I apologize,” he held up his hands in mock surrender. 

“So Jaime tells me you have some terrible plan to marry my son off to that whore Tyrell girl, who parades around here in skimpy outfits?”

Well her brother wouldn’t be interested in her regardless of how she looked so maybe she has to try a bit harder Tyrion thought. He really had to bite his tongue. Just remember, you like Jaime, he told himself. 

“If you want to have some aid in the wars to come...”

“Who says wars will come?” 

“Well you tried to kill the King,” Tyrion held up a finger and ticked it off. “You have killed his brother,” he ticked off another finger. “His heirs are illegitimate,” he ticked off one more. “You…”

“Shut up! Shut up right now!” Cersei screeched at him. “I don’t need your sarcasm and your bullshit.”

“It isn’t bullshit, it’s true. So are you planning on killing Robert or just all of his enemies? Sorry his friends your enemies? Then hope when he wakes from his cataclysmic drunken stupor he just forgets he had two brothers and Jon Arryn was hand of the King?” Tyrion drawled. 

“Robert can't survive the night, if we’re to survive tomorrow,” Jaime said.

“Then it’s easy isn’t it? Go kill him,” Tyrion pointed to the door. “You have some experience in killing Kings.”

“No!” Jaime spat.

“Now he’s finally talking sense,” Cersei turned on Jaime instead of him. “You’re going on about honor and your name! If you had any respect of your name and your family then you would do what needs to be done. You killed Aerys when it favored our family now you have scruples?”

“It’s not that! I didn’t kill Aerys for our family. I did from them,” he waved at the balcony.

“The curtains?” Tyrion asked.

“Not the fuck… No not the curtains for the city. I’m not talking about this. It isn’t happening and I’m not killing Robert. I’m already pissing all over my vows and my oaths and duty and my bloody honor by being here I’m not doing that. If it happens it happens but not by my hand!” Jaime ranted at them both. Tyrion just held his hands up to yield the point. When any wrong word could be seized upon then hand gestures saved a lot of arguing. 

He hadn’t seen his brother like that before. It was just understood between them that no one asked Jaime about what happened in the Throne Room all those years ago. He would be light and joking and fun nearly all the time but that was the one trigger which had to be avoided.

“Then,” Tyrion asked. “Then what? There is no clean way out of this. Have Joffrey marry Margaery Tyrell. Then with the Lannister, Tyrell force kill Stannis and his men. Make Jon Arryn go back to the Vale; he will if you offer him the lives of his men and he’s too old to fight another campaign as is his wife’s father. Then offer Robb Stark the Black, his honor would take such an offer and Eddard Stark isn’t going to march South to fight a battle that we’ve already won.”

“At least he is proposing solutions,” Cersei shouted directly into Jaime’s conflicted face. 

This was hardly the discussion that should be had between usurping fiends who were conspiring a coup. This was more children bickering. 

“And the King?” Tyrion asked.

“What’s your bright idea?” 

“Well. Get a girl to dress like a whore or a whore or an assassin who looks like she could be a whore. Hire a gaggle of whores put her in the mix and have go to Robert’s chambers as a birthday gift from say… Well it doesn’t matter just a knight or lord trying to curry favor,” Tyrion proposed. He had been thinking about this for a while as he stood outside waiting. Not that he was particularly supportive of this nor did he wish Robert dead. Just the alternative was the end of him. “Then have her stab or poison or set on fire the King and we can say he had a bastard with her and it was revenge. The revenge of a mad woman. I know you might find it hard to believe dear sister but some women can be cruel and vicious.” He had to say it. He had to. Even though it wouldn’t help he just couldn’t let such a chance to have a shot at his sister pass.

“That’s not a bad idea. For a stunted man. A stunted idea for stunted man.”

“And your idea?” Tyrion asked.The look his sister gave him was vile. He knew she had nothing better. What a fool. She had planned on some slapdash poisoning which backfired with no back up plan. It was incredible that she was so arrogant and sure enough in herself to think she could topple a monarchy. Knowing his sister she came up with the poisoning plan and then decided that would work and was already imagining the world afterwards. 

How wonderful it must be in her head in between the long stretches of anger, bitterness and hate when she has flashes of her dream world. Wonderful for her and her alone.

She gave both of her brothers one last evil stare before dismissing them to speak to some agent of dirty deeds to carry out this regicide. At least gold bought the best and she would probably get someone competent. Though all of that hinged on whether the other contingent working against them was just standing spear shaft still in place waiting to be defeated. If they had already secured the King then any moment a cohort of soldiers from all the loyal houses could be battering the doors and taking heads. 

“I’m going to talk to your children,” Tyrion announced, he had nothing to add to this mess anyway, “the one’s who won’t be delighted to know they might be losing who they think their father is. The husband of one gone too. I think they might need some kind words.” Cersei just waved him off in permission. A favorite gesture of her’s. 

 

-S-

His brother looked depleted. Stannis certainly recognized all the features. Something was missing. The maester had cleaned the vomit out of his beard and into fresh clothes. The smile he had permanently plastered on his face was gone. All the life gone and replaced with stillness. His brother was gone, this was just a husk now. His brother had left this world, the corpse was an unnecessary reminder of what no longer was. 

Loras Tyrell was acting like a fretting housewife. Waving his sword around like a petulant child until his father made him surrender it. A humiliation for an anointed knight. A terrible one at that. 

Stannis didn’t want to waste a moment. Margaery Tyrell’s husband was dead. Robb Stark’s wife was illegitimate. So they should marry and legitimize their sordid little affair. Not because he cared for them. However the Starks would side with him and Jon Arryn. The Tyrells could be persuaded to join House Lannister still. So the quicker it happened the better. 

“You!” Stannis pointed to the maester who treated his brother. “Come with me.” The man looked scared but bowed and tried to keep pace with his stride. “You!” He pointed now to Mace Tyrell. 

“Oh, Lord Stannis, my condolences for your loss.”

“Yes, yes, now we have a maester and witnesses, this is as good a place as any for a wedding,” Stannis continued to his point. 

“Pardon me?” He replied with his eyes bulging.

“A wedding.”

“Who… Oh, are you serious? Your brother’s body isn’t yet cold. We’re not sure what is happening in the castle even.”

“If you consent I’ll have you named Master of Laws and give you Land in the Westerlands seized from the traitors.”

Mace’s eyes darted around the garden looking for someone. It didn’t matter who it was. The man was greedy. That was obvious from his physique. He was also politically greedy and his desperate grubbing for a position of note on the Small Council was blatant. 

“Let me go speak to my family.”

“Be quick about it for god's sake.”

“You get more flies with honey not vinegar.”

“Flies are things of instinct and nothing more, people shouldn’t have to tempted with treats to act. They ought to have minds and reason,” Stannis said coldly. “Get.”

Mace Tyrell opened his mouth and closed it again having nothing to say anything, just looked angry and turned on his heel and stormed off. As much as man of his size was able to storm. Stannis had a lot to do at the moment. Renly’s death was a clear poisoning. His brother had been murdered and his other brother wasn’t aware of what was happening. If he was still alive.

Ser Barristan Selmy was by his side, or in his vicinity. As were a lot of hardened killers with battlefield experience under the Baratheon employment. 

His brother would be fine from direct attack. He had survived more wars and battles than most Kings. It was unlikely he would be dead but Stannis needed confirmation. If Robert was dead then he would ascend to the Throne. That was the only reason he had been so polite to Mace Tyrell and let him have some time, as he needed to butter him up. The actual reason for offering him the position of Master of Laws. Knowing the man’s loyalty to him would be very strained from the off. 

Davos Seaworth came rushing up to him. 

“My lord,” he was breathless. Stannis waited in silence for him to catch it back. “My lord, the Lannisters have moved their men further into the Keep. Probing for any resistance. However the King is safe. His guards look a bit on edge but nothing has happened to Robert. I just saw a gaggle of whores going towards his chambers before I came back here to report. He must be none the wiser”

“Good.”

***

Jon Arryn had come over to him and tried to convince him to stay in the gardens and not act. It was irritating. Despite wanting to act he wasn’t going to behave irrationally. It was insulting to have the Hand think he would. Besides he needed a Stark Tyrell alliance agreed upon before any swords were drawn. 

“How many men are in this garden Jon?” Stannis stopped Lord Arryn from trying to calm him down. 

“Huh? Oh, I had my captains count and we have combined seventy up her in the garden and two hundred and ninety in the castle by us”

“Nearly four hundred men with Davos’ sellswords.”

“Indeed. I reckon the Lannisters have three hundred swords in the capitol and however many men they could have gathered in the last few days and hours.”

“I would guess more than we have.”

“I would too.”

“Robert’s men would side with us if violence broke out.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“They would just lock down the King’s Chambers and get ready for an internal siege.”

“The Gold Cloaks,” Stannis switched subjects again. There was not a second to waste. “We can’t trust them. In fact the opposite. If we strike it has to be with speed. Fast and brutal.”

“Fast and brutal? The Gold Cloaks won’t rebel against the King. You’re getting ahead of yourself Stannis.”

“Do you remember what happened to the Targaryen children last time the Lannister overthrew a King?” Stannis snapped. “There won’t be mercy for us.”

“We have to react not act not matter how much that frustrates you Stannis. If we’re stopping treason how can we commit treason?”

He had no answer for that. It was true. Renly might be dead but the King wasn’t. There had been no formal accusation or trial for the poisoning. He ran his back teeth over each other clenched tight together. He would wait then.

 

-T-

“It’s nearly morning, the sun will be up in three hours,” Tyrion said to Jaime as they sat in the Lannister chambers trying to stave off sleep.

“Four.”

“Not long.”

“A lot can happen in four hours.”

“A lot can but not much has been happening since we all holed up here.”

“The men are moving deeper into the Red Keep securing more and more ground.”

“Against resistance?”

“No.”

“So our men are walking around? That’s the achievement.”

“I’m not bragging. So I don’t have to defend anything. Cersei is the puppet master. She’s calling the shots.”

“Then we’re likely to die.”

“No. We can take the Black. Besides I disagree. We will win because we’re Lannisters.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

“It isn’t faith.”

It was Tyrion thought but too tired to argue over something so dull he shut up and held his head in the cradle of his hands. His eyes started closing. Keeping them open for shorter and shorter periods.

***

“Tyrion!” Jaime was shaking his shoulder. Tyrion snapped his eyes open. He hadn’t been sleeping. No. “Wake up.”

“I’m awake,” he slurred. Maybe he had been sleeping. It was still dark. So it can’t have been that long. He felt stiff and slow as he hopped down from his chair and followed his brother into his sister’s room from where she was conducting her poorly planned… Erms. Plans.

“Close the door,” Cersei asked him. It was polite if anything. She looked happy. Really happy. She was smiling. It was unsettling. Tyrion thought he would tell her that. To try to bring back that usual frown. 

“A smile looks wrong on you sister.”

“I’m just in mourning I think.”

“In mourning… I see.”

Jaime had walked straight towards the balcony and was just staring out into space. Poor man. A Kingsguard wasn’t meant to outlive the King. Let alone two. Let alone be involved in his death. Whether it passively this time or slightly more directly last time. Cersei didn’t seem to care. She didn’t care that she hated him or loved Jaime she was single minded. 

“Tomorrow morning, tomorrow morning,” Cersei said to herself. “Have someone toll the bell.”

“Really?” Jaime woke up from his daze. “We’re doing this?”

“Yes.”

Jaime nodded and stood up properly. He had been bent and hunched a bit, but now strode from the room leaving Tyrion alone with his sister. A situation he did not want. 

“So did you go with my plan?”

“Father told me once that only jugglers needed applause,” she returned. Too proud to admit that she had listened to his advice. 

Tyrion didn’t really want any ‘credit’ for this debacle, he just didn’t want the realm to go to war. It was self serving to the extreme. It was best not to think of himself as if he had any involvement. Let Cersei take the praise/blame, let her be proud of herself for being an awful person. He would slip back to the Westerlands and never visit King’s Landing again. King Joffrey. Fuck. 

Now he just needed to get Joffrey married to the Tyrell girl and peace might be possible. Bloodshed could be avoided or at least kept to a minimum considering Stannis Baratheon would insist on some being shed. One quick marriage and House Lannister and more importantly he would be fine.

 

-R-

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity." The Maester instructed them,"Look upon one another and say the words."

“"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days,” Robb spoke the words for the second time that year. What did he care if there was no ceremony of the old gods? He had already tarnished his honor in the sight of the old gods.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days,” Margaery repeated for the second time in two months.

Their lips met for the briefest of kisses. It was awkward and painful. Being looked upon by the crowd of soldiers from a mismatch of different houses and several Lords and Margaery’s mother and grandmother. Not the friendliest of crowds. Nor the best of circumstances. His new bride's past husband was being covered by a sheet less than a hundred yards away. It felt wrong to kiss passionately and he was glad Margaery clearly felt the same. Though breaking apart, though still holding hands, he could see a fire dancing in her eyes and she was smiling genuinely. So genuine he had to smile back. 

Then the bell clanged over in the Red Keep and every eye shot towards it. One more. One more. They kept ringing. Tolling louder and louder as it grew to thunderous levels sweeping over towards them. Rumbling past and into the ocean and into the city. There could only be one reason for the bells to toll like that. 

“Well. Well bloody done Jon!” Stannis Baratheon exploded in rage. “We’ve been pissing around all bloody evening waiting and Robert is dead! Wait until morning you said.”

“Hang on now Stannis I’m Hand of the King you can’t talk to me like that.”

This certainly wasn’t how a wedding was supposed to be. Robb looked around quickly to see no one cared about him and Margaery anymore all we focused on the men arguing. He was still holding her hand and she was squeezed it harder and harder with each toll of the bell. 

“Hand of the King? The King is dead.”

“True. You’re the King then, what is your command your grace?” Jon conceded immediately.

“We’ll arrest the traitors and put them on trial and if they refuse to submit to incarceration then they are to be killed,” Stannis said coldly in such an emotionless manner it was hard to believe this man was real. Two brothers dead and announced King in a night and he had taken it all in stride. Robb still found it hard to believe Myrcella almost caught him with Margaery early. “Fetch my armor,” he ordered someone. 

“You brought armor with you here?” Jon asked Stannis following him as they walked off together.

“Obviously did you not?”

“Congratulations what a joyous occasion,” Olenna Redwyne drawled sarcastically at them. Patting Robb on the arm. “At least we don’t have to waste time with consummating the marriage. Very efficient of you two. Now you boy, don’t get killed tonight.”

“Yes please don’t,” Margaery spoke up and Robb focused his attention solely on her. 

“I won’t. They haven’t managed before.”

“Don’t be so cynical the Lannisters are overmatched and over numbered they’ll surrender their arms.”

“Of course Mace, of course that will happen,” Olenna said.

As if on cue swords were drawn in the dark of the garden. It was still the early hours. Just about. The first spear of sunlight was barely cracking the black blanket which covered the horizon. Robb wondered if this perhaps was the first night marriage. If he did die this would never have happened. 

“My lord, the men are ready with the other’s,” Alyn jogged over to him holding his spear and shield tight, his helmet now on. Robb nodded at him, grabbed Margaery by the small of her back and pulled her tight, knocking her into his armor and kissing her hard and hopeless kiss. He let her go gave her one last look and drew his own sword and joined his men. Stannis wouldn’t waste a moment. 

***

The bell was still tolling. A bronze background to their march into the bowels of the Red Keep. If they were in the pits of the castle then the bell tower was the mouth screaming mournfully into the night. Stannis had gone to the King’s Chambers with Jon Arryn and their men. Loras Tyrell and his men, who weren’t left back at the garden to protect Mace, Olenna and Margaery Tyrell were with Robb going through the working quarters.

Loras was walking ahead of him. He tried to pull him back several times but he failed and just let him lead. He was furious. Though better that fury was directed outward and not at Robb anymore. The Tyrell men were lightly armored. As was nearly everyone but him. That was something to be glad for.

The bell masked their footsteps. Though it would mask anyone moving against them. They wound through corridors Robb had never been to. This wasn’t where the highborn residents ever visited. He had made a promise to himself that the first thing he would do once this was over was write to his family. 

The further they got, the deeper they were the narrower the corridors became, narrower and narrower until they opened up into wide hall with Red and Gold cloaks occupying it. They were walking in the same direction Robb was going. 

“Halt!” Loras called out.

“Put down your arms and you’ll be spared,” Robb added, knowing that was something Loras didn’t want so he would have to take the lead. Loras was actually trembling, his sword very slightly vibrating. “Well?!”

The first red cloak turned to shout an order to someone behind them as Loras was already moving forward. Robb jogged up to him and felt the presence of those following. He couldn’t stop it before it happened. Loras had cut down two men as Robb reached him not waiting a moment to grab the knight. It was too late a strike was coming in over his head. Robb got his arm up to take the blade on the steel gauntlet. He used the gauntlet to backhand the man hearing a crunch.

The rest of the Red and Gold cloaks were cut down by his men’s spears. 

“What the hell,” Robb grabbed the tunic of Loras and shoved the smaller man. His good-brother as of less than an hour ago. “What the fuck?”

“You asked them to surrender and they refused. You heard what King Stannis said.”

“He isn’t King yet.”

“What’s done is done my lord,” Loras seethed through gritted teeth. 

“That’s true. Let’s keep moving. Remember still offer quarter. No one yet knows of these men.”

“What if we offer quarter and Stannis and Arryn are dead or will die and the soldiers who kill them liberate those we take prisoner?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“My lord?” Alyn elbowed him roughly. “Your orders my lord we need haste.”

“Ser Loras is right. No quarter.” Robb shared a nod with Alyn and then with Loras. Who had a dark burning fire in his eyes. He looked possessed. He broke his gaze with Robb to stab down at the Lannister man who Robb had only knocked back. He was serious. “Let’s move on.”

“No quarter,” Loras muttered to himself barely audible over the incessant tolling of the bell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they all woke up and it was all a dream and lived happily ever after.  
> Yaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy!


	15. -1-5-

-1-5-

-R-

That bell, that fucking bell it wouldn’t stop tolling. The blood in his ears was distractingly painful pulsing with each ring. They were walking cautiously now and Loras was very slightly calmer when he was covered in blood. 

They’d cleared the lower levels and were moving up slowly and carefully expecting resistance at any moment. It came as they entered a wide hall used for carrying large loads of provisions into the Red Keep. Two dozen quarrels came whooshing towards them cutting down Stark and Tyrell soldiers alike. One glanced off his pauldron and another rang close to his ear but he was unharmed.

“Charge, charge now!” Loras cried as he rushed forward. Robb followed, it made sense, a lot of sense crossbows were deadly in close quarters but they take a long time to reload. The hall felt long and the sound of the bell drowned out the cries of the wounded every chime then their screams exploded in the gap before being smothered once more. Robb took the first man’s mace by the shaft and pulled him down into a plunging strike from his sword.

The next person he faced was taken down by Alyn’s spear as he charged past Robb. He would have died ten times over if he wasn’t armored and the amount of noise coming from the wounded showed they were paying the price for being in light clothing. Even what was left of the armor from Loras’ jousting clothes was doing him favors as he danced left and right killing each man whom he came to before turning around and taking down those still fighting.

Loras fought like a madman, yet still elegant. As opposed to Robb’s more brutal stronger style. 

More of their men entered the hallway as the carnage ended. They had lost several men but the shields caught many bolts and others went wide. One of his guard was dead with a halberd of a gold cloak embedded in his stomach and another man was dead from a stab wound in the chest leaning up against the wall. 

He knew both of them well. It was no time to mourn. 

The Red Cloaks who had been holding the crossbows were hacked apart after death, anger from his and the Tyrell men who had lost comrades. 

“Loras stop,” Robb seethed out through his gritted teeth. “We can’t enter rooms blindly anymore! You and I don’t even have shields.”

“Here,” Loras picked up a round Stark shield from the fallen and tossed it to Robb. Then a Tyrell one and strapped it to his arm. “Happy now. Brother?” He dripped the last word with sarcasm. He waited with raised eyebrows and Robb just shrugged in response. It was still a better good-brotherly relationship than he had had with Joffrey so it wasn’t all bad. 

***

The casualties on his side were mounting up. Nothing compared to the Red and Gold cloaks they met. They were moving up through the Red Keep killing every pocket of resistance they met. Robb was coated in blood all the way up his arm, the droplets falling steadily from his sword, with each tolling of that bloody bell another drop of blood fell. 

Up and up they went, taking staircases as quickly as possible. It was the worst place to be caught by missiles. Though if they were blind to the movements of the Lannisters then they must be blind to their’s. It was clear the more and more men they engaged that their enemies were uncertain on how to move. Robb and Loras had all of their men in a larger force than the pockets of Red and Gold cloaks. That was giving them the advance. 

Cautious of crossbows even the Knight of the Flowers was moving with a bit more restraint. It was hard to form a shield wall in corridors which broke off and separated like the fingers of an estuary. Not that Robb had ever practiced forming a shield wall, it wasn’t really something a lord did. 

The gold and silver glint of the armor of the Kingsguard was unmistakable as they had risen to a place in the castle where the sun was breaking through the windows. A low light at waist level and the still flickering, almost burnt out candles at head level made the atmosphere eerie. 

Ser Meryn Trant Robb zeroed in on immediately. Ser Mandon Moore was with him. In a feasting hall of the Red Keep, with tables still set out for a breakfast that wouldn’t take place. It gave Robb and Loras and their men time to form up on one side, shields clinking together. The benches created artificial corridors. Robb walked towards Trant glad of it. There was something unpleasant about Moore with his emotionless grey eyes. 

The soldiers crashed into each other all around them as Trant walked slowly, almost lumbering towards his holding his sword in front of him with two hands. 

“Shouldn’t the King’s Guard, guard the King?” Robb shouted at him as he moved to meet him.

“I am.”

“Stannis is King.”

“Joffrey is King.”

That was enough motivation for Robb to strike first. The thought of King Joffrey was such a horror it was certainly worth fighting for, worth killing for. Worth doing anything to stop those who wanted that to be the outcome of this mess. 

The hulking knight parried Robb’s strike and clumsily attacked with several heavy and powerful blows which were easy to dodge. The man wasn’t a good fighter. Robb couldn’t believe the ease he deflected this supposedly elite knight’s attacks. His huge body and weight was all he had and without the corridor created by the tables would be far easier to defeat. 

Robb ducked and weaved around his foe’s lazy and poor attacks and managed to knick Trant’s cheek, the man hissed and backed up to hold his face. Using that chance to strike Robb moved in closer, a risky move against a stronger man, and managed to stab him directly in the upper thigh in a gap in his armor. He stumbled back cursing and swiping madly. 

Was this some sort of trick? Could a Kingsguard be this poor? This underwhelming. Using his advantage Robb quickly checked around him and saw Loras and Moore trading lighting fast blows too swift to see. The general melee of the foot soldiers around them was too much of a mess to gauge who was winning or losing.

He’d spent too long surveying his surroundings and paid for his mistake with a hard blow that he barely blocked with his wrist. All the pain from the fresh wound from the mace in the melee came flooding back with a torrent of fresh pain on top of that. The second he got his sword up and kicked out hard and down at the gash in Trant’s leg. Robb’s heel took the bigger man down to one knee bellowing in agony like a wounded boar.

Robb dashed back and swiped the Kingsguard’s sword from his hand and hacked at his head. His hand went up and Robb took his hand off aiming for his neck. The second hacking blow came hard into the armor at Trant’s neck, clanging up into his helm, biting at the flesh. One more and Trant fell dead, half his head slashed off but still attached where his famed, heavy armor protected him. 

The Stark and Tyrell numbers were reduced but they were winning. 

Loras and Moore had left the corridors of the benches and were at the head of the feasting hall trading the most furious blows and parries. Leaving them to it Robb changed his focus to Alyn and his men to mop up the rest of the Red Cloak.

“I surrender, I surrender!” One of the Lannister men cried out throwing his sword to the ground only for a spear to take out his throat. The handful of remaining enemies who tried to ask for quarter were given none. It was his order after all… It just turned his stomach, even in the heat of combat to see men with their hands up getting cut down without remorse. 

It was his fault he reflected bitterly as Loras finally felled his opponent. 

 

-S-

“Give way.”

“Sorry my lord but we can’t let anyone pass.”

“I’m not anyone! I want to see my brother.”

“Your brother has passed.”

“I know! I want to see his body. That bloody bell, you!” Stannis pointed to Ser Fossoway, “take a handful of men and kill whoever is ringing that bloody bell!” The man nodded and filed away. “Now let me pass.”

The Baratheon guards not obeying him was infuriating beyond belief. These men should be his sworn bannerman now. Instead yet another contingent of people who ought to have a respect for duty and tradition refusing to act accordingly. A small niggling part of him was considering having his men cut them down to gain access to the King’s bedroom. That wouldn’t be proper.

Jon Arryn arrived after him. The man was going slowly and having any Lannister men they ran into throw down their arms and taken into custody rather than dealing them the death that traitors deserve. The noise of clashing steel was occasionally audible throughout the Red Keep over the sound of the bell. 

“What’s happening here?”

“This idiot is thinking about stopping us.”

“Let us by ser, as Hand of the King I demand it.”

The guards looked conflicted but gave way. Stannis felt the rage bubbling down in his gut at that. How dare they. Refuse him! He was to be King and men sworn to his house refused him. He made a careful mental note of the faces of those men. They would pay for this slight when this was all said and done. They would spend their time guarding Haystack Hall when this was all said and done. 

Pushing past and into his brother’s chambers the smell struck him first. It was the smell of booze. Of a whorehouse and of blood. Robert was lying in his oversized bed his chest a wreck. Just stabbed to pieces. The blood had dried and the dead King’s ribs were bare. If Stannis felt no emotion looking at Renly’s body then he felt even less now. Robert had done nothing in his life but slight him.

He held Storm’s End and it was taken from him. He wasn’t named his own brother’s Hand. Stark was a brother to him not Stannis himself. It was his own fault he was lying here dead. If he would have been the man ought to have been he would have taken Stannis’ word about the matter of the Lannister conspiracy. No. Instead his lack of respect meant some long drawn out nonsense in which his enemies could move freely and strike first.

And that is what they did.

Stabbed to death by a whore. It would never be a method Stannis would ever think of to murder a King. He would never consider it in the first place. However when considering how an enemy may act then he had to speculate. An assassin disguised as a common whore would be the furthest thing from his mind. This only added to the weight of the necessity to rid the realm of the Lannisters. 

“He did not deserve to end his life like this.”

Stannis turned to see Jon Arryn had joined him. The man had the decency to give him a moment with his deceased brother. 

“Did he not? We all have to die.”

“Like this? Stabbed to death in his bed.”

“This could have happened anyway. Robert fathered bastards everywhere he went. Promising a lady the world in the evening and forgetting her name in the morning. It was no way for a King to behave. The sort of thing which would drive a whore into a violent madness.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“No.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes from his brother’s bed since entering the room. 

“It must have been a low rent assassin to accept this,” he gestured at the scene. “How did she plan on escaping?”

“She didn’t Robert’s guards beat her to death with their fists. The corpse is outside in a corner,” Jon told him.

“Of course it is. Where is Ser Barristan?”

“We’re looking for him.”

“He’s probably dead then.”

“Yes. Yes he probably is.”

“Well we should get to action if we don’t wish to join him, Robert and Renly.”

“Yes your grace.”

That felt good. Immediately Stannis rebuked himself. It didn’t feel good. The first ‘your grace,’ was simply a profound moment. Yet this wasn’t a good or a bad thing. It was simply duty and tradition not pride.

***

Planning ahead made sense. His armor was useful in the tight corridors of the Red Keep. The first sight of Red and to his great annoyance Gold cloaks the fighting broke out. There were no calls for pause or quarter. He didn’t intend on giving any quarter. He couldn’t have prisoners. Not when Robb Stark and Loras Tyrell’s status was unknown to him. Stannis hadn’t had a fight in a long time. He was out of practice. However an out of practice high lord who had the best training and a lot of battlefield experience was still far better than the average foot soldier. 

The cries and screams were background noise. The bell still hadn’t stopped. 

“This is a mess,” Davos joined Stannis. His sword wasn’t crimson yet. The man had many uses but front line fighting wasn’t one of them. His mercenaries were doing well. Stannis didn’t want to let the hired swords out of his sight, they could only be trusted to earn their purse if they stayed close. 

“The Gold Cloaks have betrayed us. Betrayed the city, we need to secure the Keep as quickly as possible before they can be funnelled into the castle and… Jon?” 

Jon Arryn was holding his side and leaning against a wall and there was blood leaking out between his fingers. The man was far too old to be fighting. Even Stannis was almost too old to be fighting like this but it was such a terrible idea for the Hand to try to fight for the first time in over a decade. 

He was too valuable to lose. 

“You! What’s your name,” Stannis pointed to the man who had been following Jon like a shadow.

“Hugh my lord. I’m the Hand’s squire.”

“Take him back to the Tyrell gardens. Don’t let him die or else I’ll hold you responsible.”

“Yes my lord.”

“I’m fine Stannis, I’m fine,” Jon muttered his voice coming out weak like a wisp of his former self. Paler than ever. 

“Rest. We’ll finish this.”

“Find Stark,” Jon said the last vestige of his strength leaving him as Hugh had to hold him up with arm around his back and taking his arm over his shoulder. If he’s alive Stannis thought. Why was that bloody bell still tolling? 

 

-T-

The reports coming back to the Lannister compound were not good. The troops they sent to secure the castle had been returning in ones and twos, battered and bloody and giving reports about how Robb Stark and Loras Tyrell had decimated them. It wasn’t looking good for them. Cersei was screaming at Janos Slynt, an unpleasant man, to start pulling the Gold Cloaks up from their watches in the city. There was no way in hell they would get into the Red Keep in time to protect her. More importantly. To protect him. 

Tyrion kept his mouth shut. He knew Cersei was on the last frayed nerve she had and one misstep on his behalf and she may order one of the many equally psychotic killers around them to decapitate him. 

Jaime was nowhere to be seen. The situation must be pretty dire. 

“Uncle?”

“Yes dear,” he turned to see Tommen and Myrcella standing by him. He hadn’t noticed them approach, too wrapped up in his own worries. At least he was nice to Stark the one time, maybe the lad would ransom him when his siblings were arrested. 

“What’s happening? Mother won’t say? I asked over and over!” Myrcella told him angrily as Tommen stood meekly by her side, looking intently as she spoke then turning his attention to Tyrion for his reply. She had grown more bold and confident as of late. Her marriage was a good thing for her. Was. It had been. Another person’s life fucked up by Cersei Lannister’s tunnel visioned fury. 

“The bell is tolling,” he replied uselessly.

“For father?”

“Yes.”

“Why are we here? Why can’t we go to him?”

“It isn’t safe out there.”

“We’re fighting aren’t we?” 

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Everyone but us it would seem.”

“Everyone… Not Robb…”

“I don’t know,” he replied lowly. He did know. Stark would obviously take the side of honor. This side, his side certainly wasn’t the honorable nor was it in the right. However breaking his niece’s heart in the middle of this trauma was too much.

“He wouldn’t…”

“I don’t know,” he repeated in a careful measured voice. “I know we are fighting Stannis.”

“He’s our Uncle though.”

“He wants the throne,” Tyrion said. Stannis probably did, that wasn’t a lie, he however was now the heir apparent so it wasn’t out of greed. 

“Let him have it then,” Tommen piped up. “He can be King and we’ll be friends again.” He said if it were all so easy. 

“Maybe we can. Why couldn’t you be the first born and not Joffrey?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. He wouldn’t be a good King either would he? Joffrey would be vicious but Tommen would have been weak and controllable. 

“What are we doing here? If mother hurts Robb I won’t forgive her ever.”

“I don’t think she cares. I don’t think she will. She doesn’t want the North coming South.”

“North can’t go South Uncle!” Tommen laughed. He hadn’t grasped the weight of this situation at all. Tyrion doubted that was an attempt at being light and humorous.

“Our houses are joined,” Myrcella’s voice becoming more forlorn by the minute. It did raise the question. Did Stannis know the origin of his sister’s children? Did he know who their father was or just that it wasn’t Robert? That was an important distinction. Very important if they were going to survive this encounter. 

“Sorry dear, I’m afraid your mother doesn’t tell me much either, I don’t know. We just have to hope.”

“Should we pray?”

“You can if you like.” The Lannister family wasn’t much for religion. “Oh and here’s the man for it,” he drawled as Grand Maester Pycelle staggered into the room. Awful man. He hadn’t said a prayer in a hundred years. He shot Tyrion a dirty look which he returned and staggered further to gain an audience with Cersei. 

***

“We’re not fleeing the capitol!” Cersei was beside herself. Pycelle had come to tell them how there were tunnels which were hidden and unknown which would lead them all out of King’s Landing. “Jaime will be back soon and we’ll… We’ll win. This pessimism is pathetic. Father would never tolerate such thinking.”

“Father wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. There is no point dying here for no reason. Father has an army. A rather large one. If we flee to the West we can stay alive and you can return later.”

“Cowardice.”

“Have you noticed that,” Tyrion looked upwards. “The bell has stopped.”

“I ordered them to ring it all night and all day! They’ll be killed for this.”

“They probably already have been. Like a lot of our soldiers.”

“Useless. Utter… Vylar would be able to lead this rabble, if that Northern savage hadn’t punched his face to bits!” Cersei screeched. He might have been able to if you hadn’t set him on Stark Tyrion thought bitterly. Mistake after mistake. 

 

-R-

He was suffering. Really suffering. The pain from the melee was becoming hard to deal with. It was only a day ago but felt like a lifetime. Things seemed to be going well otherwise. He had no idea really. They had defeated everyone they’d encountered and lost few in comparison. They needed to find Stannis and Jon Arryn. It would all be for naught if Stannis died. The realm would have no King. 

“Loras, slow down,” Robb called out. “Where are we going?”

“To kill Lannisters.”

“We’ve killed plenty. We need to find Stannis.”

“Fuck Stannis.”

“We need to find him,” Robb repeated. “We should worry about where they are and meet up with their forces.”

“You don’t need to worry about Stannis,” a new voice called out. It was Jaime Lannister, he wasn’t wearing the armor of the Kingsguard he was wearing the red and black armor of House Lannister. He was with a lot of men and the Hound towering above all of them. 

“Another King dead under your watch Kingslayer. At least you stabbed the last one. Poison is a woman’s weapon,” Loras spat out as he and Robb and what was left of their retinue squared up to the Lannister force. They were outnumbered. 

“If Stannis counts then a third,” Jaime said smugly.

“The bell has stopped,” Robb murmured to Loras so only he could hear. “Stannis is alive.” He must be. He would have ordered the bell to be silenced. “Don’t be reckless.”

“It’s a shame Tyrell, you had the chance to be a great knight and now you die in some hall in a skirmish no one will remember.”

The air tightened around them. Words were done. Robb could sense it as he gripped his sword hard, his knuckles would be white under his gauntlet. His heart was beating twice as fast as he thought it was possible to beat. The man might be a dishonorable, spoiled knight but he still had the most fearsome of reputations. 

Both sides advanced cautiously at first before finally rushing and crashing into each other. 

***

A fire had started somehow. Jaime Lannister was coated in blood. Alyn was lying dead at his hand. There was no time to think on that now. Stannis and his men had arrived and evened the numbers somewhat but the presence of the Hound and Jaime Lannister gave them the advantage. Jaime was cutting every down in front of him and the Hound had cut a man fully in half.

Loras Tyrell was a man possessed cutting a bloody swathe towards the Kingslayer. A fight Robb didn’t want. 

Robb took the incoming sword strike from a Red Cloak under his arm, trapping the blade against his armored ribs and slashed at the trapped man’s face, cutting him down with a sick crack. He knew he had to help Loras with the Kingslayer. The Knight of the Flowers was coping, barely coping against the older man.

Even two on one. Robb and Loras against him, he was able to fend them off and get in offence of his own. Slash after slash was parried and riposted. Both of them attacked together and were stopped together. How could a man move that fast and that powerfully? As Robb wondered Jaime’s fist knocked him back onto his arse. Leaving Loras alone to press a rash attack. 

His wounds and strains were becoming worse. He struggled to his feet and surveyed the situation. They were winning. At a cost. A lot of men in Grey and Green cloaks were dead. More than in Red or Gold replaced by Baratheons and sellswords. The Hound had disappeared, he couldn’t see the corpse. Several brackets with torches had fallen and set some banners or tapestries ablaze. 

“Get him!” Stannis’ voice rose above the noise of battle. “Get him!” 

Robb pushed himself to his feet just as a Gold Cloak tried to run him through with a spear. He caught the shaft just below the blade and pulled the man into his sword biting at his neck and throwing him aside. Dead. 

“Get him! Get him!”

Robb plunged his sword into the back of a man who was grappling with a Tyrell soldier on the ground. Then he slashed sideways taking the arm off a gold cloak who was wielding a spear then into the guts of another gold cloak.

“Get him!”

He helped his own men up, those who were down. Stannis’ voice wouldn’t stop. Repeating that same thing over and over.

Getting his bearings back he could no longer see Jaime Lannister. The man must have fled with the Hound. It was impossible to really tell. The groans, moans and screams from the dying or wounded made it impossible to focus. Loras looked furious, he was bleeding from his cheek but looked unharmed. Unlike Alyn. Who was stone cold. His armor had kept him alive. Unlike so many others. His personal guard could no longer seat a decent sized dining table. 

“My lord,” Robb approached Stannis. “What now?”

“You two take my men and yours and go after the Kingslayer, we have to get them now,” Stannis said through clenched teeth. He was also in armor but was holding his lower gut, clearly injured badly. “Hear me?” He turned to call to the Baratheon men there. “Go with Stark, follow his orders.”

Robb nodded and tried to get his exhausted body to move back into action. Every muscle screamed as they moved. He was ready to collapse. He hadn’t slept in two days now and was battered to pieces. Loras didn’t seem affected, he was fresh still and looked just as mad and full of rage as when they first engaged the Lannisters down in the basement levels.

The end was in sight. If the Kingslayer was fleeing then they must have won. All the horror and evil that man had committed and was capable of cowardice was hardly one of them. The end was in sight and he willed his body into one last burst. Blood and gore then rest.

***

“The fuck! The fuck!” Loras shouted kicking over tables and throwing chairs. Robb tried to be more measured but shared his new good-brother’s frustration. The Lannisters were gone. No Cersei, no Jaime, no Tyrion, none of her illegitimate children. It was as if they had vanished with magic.

Robb had to think of them as illegitimate children. Personalizing them with their name was too much, too painful. Remembering… Nevermind.

“Fucking cunts!” Loras screamed, his voice cracking and he fell to his knees and started sobbing. Bodily weeping his shoulder racked with sorrow. His cries were horrible. Worse than all the carnage and blood he had seen that night. Robb and the handful of men who had entered the Lannister apartments together let him get it out. He must really have loved Renly Baratheon. As his weeps became softer they faded and he just crumbled to the floor.

“You, what’s your name?” 

“Janos Slynt my lord,” the gold cloak commander stuttered. He was scared. Very. The last remaining symbol left in the Capitol of the Lannister coup. He was a bald, slightly overweight man, trembling from belly to jowls. 

“Where have the Lannisters gone?”

“Spare me my lord, promise me, give me your word, please and I’ll tell you everything,” he blubbered starting to cry too. Unlike Loras’ sobs they weren’t sad they were disgustingly feeble. 

“You have it.”

“There are tunnels my lord, escape tunnels, they lead out of the city my lord, I don’t know where my lord. I told you my lord. Spare me my lord!” 

What a horrible man.

“You, run to Stannis and tell him. We can have outriders catch them,” Robb turned to his men and singled one out for this mission. He turned back just in time to see Loras hack off Slynt’s head. “Shit! I promised him I’d let him live,” Robb pushed Loras.

“I didn’t.”

It wasn’t worth arguing. He wanted to get out of his armor. He wanted to rest. He wanted to see Margaery. He grabbed Loras’ arm and led him away from the empty Lannister compound both of them making bloody footprints as they went. 

***

He was bowled over. A flying streak of chestnut hair and arms pounced on him as he and what remained of those who left trudged back into the Tyrell garden. Margaery laid desperate kisses over his face, his cheeks, forehead, nose, just trying to get him all over. Before finally she kissed him. 

“Hi,” she breathed. “Are alright?” 

“Yeah, that hurt,” he smirked back. The fall in his armor onto cobbles didn’t help. “I told you I wouldn’t die.”

“You promised you wouldn’t and it’s not a good start of a marriage to begin it on a lie,” she smiled back. The joy in her smile was infectious, so genuine. Lying on his back looking up at her he relaxed. Calm washed over him, removing then releasing the tightness from the coil which had been winding inside him since he first drew his sword. The rising sun behind Margaery perfectly lit her face, the golden rays dancing off her chestnut curls and braids. She kissed him again, tenderly, then climbed off him letting him get up.

He didn’t care about the rest of the people around. He had survived. Robb lead his new wife over to the wall which overlooked the Blackwater. The spears of the sun rays split over the water glittering and shattering off the body of restful water simultaneously. It was pleasant. After all that turmoil to hold the woman he loved, the peaceful breeze lightly blowing into his face as he basked in this happy moment under the sun in splendor.

 

-M-

Robb and Loras were both sleeping. Just on the floor. They had passed out. The relief she felt when they both returned was indescribable. She couldn’t sleep yet. The only people who weren’t guards who were still awake were her and her grandmother. Sitting at the stone gazebo which had become a staple of her life since moving to the capitol.

“The boys look like they’ve been through hell,” she said.

“Hell? That was a cakewalk compared to what is to come.”

“What do you mean grandmother?”

“Cersei and Jaime have escaped, they won’t be caught. Jon Arryn’s wounds will kill him if they haven’t already. Stannis is wounded and hardly fit to lead a campaign against the West. If he doesn’t die too.”

“What happens if Stannis passes?”

“Now, now that is the question. A question which will decide the future of this realm. A question which will put swords in hands and a lot of men under the ground.”

“Shireen is it? Stannis’ daughter is next in line.”

“Technically. A sweet girl from what I hear. The realm won’t back a disfigured little girl. It needs a man. A young strong man with political ties... Do you know anyone like that?” Olenna asked her.

“I know a few,” Margaery replied slowly.

“What do you want Margaery?”

“Sorry?”

“What do you want?”

“To find a bed with Robb. This is my wedding day, night, weekend, whatever.”

“Don’t be flippant. What do you want?”

“What’s best for the house,” she replied neutrally.

“Which?”

“Tyrell, of course.”

“You’re not a Tyrell anymore. You haven’t had that name since you arrived here. Margaery Stark.”

“Margaery Stark,” she rolled the name around in her mouth. 

“Yes. Now your husband. He’s young.”

“He is.”

“He’s strong.”

“True.”

“He has the backing of the North and the South surely?”

“One would presume.”

“Just something to mull over. Now I certainly have to sleep. At my age. I shouldn’t be involved in this nonsense,” Olenna huffed and got up signalling for her guard and hobbling off. 

It was something to think about. She got up from the gazebo and found Robb sleeping in his full armor, still coated in blood, propped up against a wall with a cloak rolled up as a pillow behind his head. She crouched down and rested her head on his cold, metal shoulder. Margaery was ready for sleep.

Well she had been.

Up until her grandmother put thoughts in her head.

Thoughts which reinvigorated her mind.

She looked over at her husband’s sleeping face. 

A lot to think about.

 

-Myr-

Myrcella didn’t know what was really happening. Her father had died. No one had told her much more. Even Uncle Tyrion had been more evasive than he usually was. Swords and spears were drawn and then her other Uncle came running back to the chambers and now they were in a tunnel. A dank dirty tunnel. She was wearing a long dress. It was elegant and made for show. For her father’s birthday! It was impossible to flee in it. She kept tripping over her feet. 

Tommen was being carried by one of her mother’s household guard. Joffrey was far ahead of her. With her mother and Uncle Jaime. 

Tripping again she finally fell onto the cold, wet ground. Her knee flashed with agony. Ow. She had never been hurt before. Ow. 

“Get the fuck up,” a man picked up her up roughly by the arm and actually shoved her! Shoved her! A princess. He didn’t even use her proper title! He passed her and kept going. Everyone was in hurry and she was already having trouble keeping up. Even hiking up her skirts she couldn’t help but trip and fumble her steps.

She really wanted to see Robb. To be back in their chamber and go to feasts together. Not scurrying like a rat in a maze.

Again she hit the cold wet dirt. Her hand was cut. It was hard to see with the low light from the torches men were carrying. Not many of them were near her. It was like she was forgotten. An after thought. 

“DOWN HERE!”

A loud voice called from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see many torches appearing at the start of the tunnel where they had began. 

“Run!”

She couldn’t run. She tried. Tripping over her skirts, it was too much, trying to run and hold up her dress. She fell again. This time even more painfully. Her knees were in agony. She tried to pull herself up but the moss and slime on the floor made her hand slip this time and she face planted onto the cold stone.

The torches ahead of her were disappearing. The ones behind her were getting brighter.

Myrcella tried to scrabble to her feet but she slipped more and more until getting up was more effort than just giving up. Tired and abandoned she just resigned herself to whatever fate was steadily approaching in the dark dead dank pit.

***

This wasn’t her room. She didn’t recognize this room. It was a little bare. She still didn’t know what had happened. Why she was here. She just knew she had been forgotten by her own family and now… Now who knows what was going to happen. If she could just get her husband to come her he would sort this all out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo it's Robb Stark,  
> I go for blood like a shark,  
> Fighting through the light and the dark,  
> Sword flashing like a spark,  
> Up and down in an arc,  
> Then back to Margaery for a stroll in the park.
> 
> Well it's MC Joffrey Baratheon,  
> and... I can't think of a rhyming word for Baratheon...
> 
> Robb Stark - WINNER!


	16. -1-6-

-Myr-

 

“I want to see Robb Stark, this instant,” she ordered the cold, emptied eyed man who brought her food, wine and water. “Ser? Do you know who I am?” Myrcella was ignored he acted as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Was she going crazy. Had she died in that tunnel and this was some stage between the afterlife and life? What was happening? Hours passed, slow or fast she couldn’t tell. 

 

There was nothing to do. A maester came to treat her wounds but he wouldn’t speak to her either. She tried to ask questions at first. Nothing. Then she became indignant and still nothing. Finally she gave up and just sat there and let him apply salve to the cuts she got tripping in the tunnel. Then it was nothing again. Just a modest room with no view and a door which was locked. Always locked. She tried to open it over and over and over and over again. Day and night disappeared into a haze of blurred lines. 

 

She cried for a while. Then she paced. Then she sat in her bed hugging her knees tight. Then she screamed and screamed until her vocal cords strained then ached then screamed back at her with agony and she had to give up. Myrcella wasn’t used to pain. She wasn’t used to discomfort. She wasn’t used to being ignored. Well not by people outside her family. However as a middle child and a princess she was very used to being bored.

 

Though worries in solitude became more rampant and spread like wildfire taking hold and making nests which festered and made her sick. Despite it not possibly being more than a couple of days maybe three Myrcella was sure she was going crazy.

 

The not knowing didn’t help.

 

She asked the cold eyed man who brought her food and drink if she could have some pen and paper. He didn’t reply or even look at her but sure enough when the next tray arrived it had pen and paper on it. At least she wasn’t imagining this all or had lost the ability to speak. She had nothing to write. No one to write to. 

 

She kept asking after Robb, wanting her husband to come. Had he been wounded in the fighting? Had he… Had worse happened? If so then she would be here alone. Left by her family. Apart from her Uncle Stannis. Though she suspected that he wouldn’t be too kind to her. She just needed Robb to find out about her situation. He was a good, decent, honorable man and wouldn’t allow his own wife to be treated in such a manner.

 

-M-

 

“Robb! Come back to bed!” Margaery called over to him. He clearly wanted to. It must have taken all of his willpower to stay rooted at the desk. However during the fight in the bowels of the castle which they barely won and not everyone survived he told her that he promised himself he would write his family. That was going to be difficult letter to write. Very difficult. 

 

“I have to write my father.”

 

“Oh really,” she perked up at that and he turned as he must have heard her pad over to him. “What are you going to say?” Margaery asked, still naked she sat on his lap, pulling his arms either side of her so the quill was still able to reach the paper. Leaning back on his bare shoulder.

 

“Are you trying to distract me?” 

 

“No. I’ll change if you want?”

 

“No, no, no don’t be so hasty,” Robb said kissing her lightly on the neck as she giggled. “I need to explain what’s happened.”

 

“What has happened?”

 

“Well… A lot.”

 

“What will happen?”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“Well Jon Arryn is dead. His heir is too young to lead the Vale to war. Stannis is injured. Despite ordering everyone around like a mad man he grows visibly weaker by the day.”

 

“So? I’ll tell him that.”

 

“What happens if Stannis passes?”

 

“I honestly don’t know.”

 

“No? We ought to think on it.”

 

“Let’s take it one step at a time.”

 

Margaery scowled for a moment. It was a ghost of a scowl so she knew Robb didn’t noticed it.

 

“What are you going to say about me? Good things I hope?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Our houses never had any real problems.”

 

“Just avoid the topic of Storm’s End.”

 

“Planned on opening with that.”

 

“Shut up,” she squeezed under his chin and pinched his face tight. Kissing his scrunched up face. “You should be happy.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“You sound so funny with your face like that. Sply pis dhat?”

 

“This is bullying,” Robb shook his face free and did a play bite at her fingers.

 

“You married me, you are mine now, who are going to complain to?”

 

“Well I was thinking my father first,” Robb mumbled under her grip tapping the tip of the quill to the still unblemished paper. “See if he can set you right.”

 

Margaery leaned over him teasing kissing him but stopping a half inch from his lips hovering above him. Robb strained up pretending to struggle to kiss her. She wanted to distract him from writing this letter. She didn’t want him to think about things in such black and white. Her grandmother’s words rang in her head. They buried in deep and grew stronger.

 

She wanted her new husband named Hand of the King at the very least. However crowns changed hands. Stannis looked worse by the day. Who else was there? 

 

Finally Margaery stifled a laugh and leaned down the final inch to kiss Robb. Letting go of his quill they toppled back together onto the floor. 

 

“Ow.”

 

“You cushioned my fall,” she murmured into his ear. “Come back to bed you can write a letter anytime.” Margaery prompted lightly running the back of her hand over his legs and his length, going to kiss him but biting and pulling back on his lip instead as she grabbed hold of him. He growled and nodded, scooping her up as he stood up. It was a pretty impressive feat of strength.

 

***

 

Robb was sleeping peacefully as Margaery got out of bed and dressed. It was late afternoon. However her husband had been battered around a lot recently. He was covered in wounds and had fought all through a night and then early morning. He needed rest. 

 

She however needed to speak to her grandmother. So she went towards the Rose Garden and the stone gazebo where it had all began and was still unfolding at she headed. There were a few missing Tyrell guardsmen. However her house had done the best that evening. When the dead were cleared from the halls, it was mostly Baratheon, Arryn and overall the Gold and Red cloaks. The Starks didn’t have a big contingent to begin with and now it was Robb and five or six Northmen. Maybe more maybe less.

 

“Where’s father?” She asked taking a seat at the long circular bench.

 

“Who knows, I think probably writing love letters to Paxter Redwyne.” 

 

“Seriously where is he.”

 

“Writing letters to Paxter Redwyne… I may have suggested that the Lord of the Arbor would be well suited to be Master of Ships. Just as Randyll Tarly would be suited to Master of Laws.”

 

“You are playing a dangerous game grandmother.”

 

“A long staircase or a cold night are dangerous for a woman my age too.”

 

“What of Stannis’ health.”

 

“King Stannis.”

 

“Yes, my mistake, what of King Stannis’ health.”

 

“Poor. From what we can tell. He’s thinking of naming his Onion Knight as Hand.”

 

“What?!”

 

“Ah, that got your attention. So your husband goes back to being a member of the Small Council at best.”

 

“At best?”

 

“War is coming, and Stannis needs the North and the North brings the Riverlands to bear too. However when all is said and done he may just send Robb back to Winterfell.”

 

“Back… Wait. Then I would go too?”

 

“That’s part of your marital duty you’re not so keen on?” 

 

“No. Certainly not.”

 

“Well, this all hinges on whether our bold new King doesn’t die of his wounds. Or die in the upcoming conflict. If he even wins.”

 

“He’ll win.”

 

“Aye, it’s unlikely the Lannisters will find any friends.”

 

“I don’t care about the war. I care about well…”

 

“Yourself?”

 

“To an extent. Quite a deep extent. I don’t want to go North.”

 

“What does Robb want?”

 

“Me.”

 

“As much as you want him?”

 

“Yes,” Margaery replied hesitantly. “I just care about our surroundings a bit more.”

 

“You wouldn’t go North no matter what?”

 

Margaery had no reply for that in the moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

 

“That isn’t the case we’re in right now so let’s not worry about that,” she decided on finally. 

 

“Smart girl. Now I’ve been working on talking to your father. He knows he isn’t going to be King. Nor should he be. Thanks the gods. However he wants power for his house. Stannis maybe the rightful monarch but the man has no friends. He has his Onion Knight, a capable man from what I’ve heard, and his wife’s brother, not a very capable man.”

 

“How sad, having so few friends… Whereas father has so many.”

 

“Your husband’s father does too.”

 

Her grandmother had yet to specifically say what was being hinted at, however it was clear enough. Now Margaery found herself wishing for a second Baratheon to die. First Renly and now Stannis. Not out of any dislike of either man. Just… Well the ends justify the means. 

 

“Has your husband’s father been informed of all the excitement in the Capitol?”

 

“He was writing earlier but I stopped him.”

 

“See if you can help him write his letter.”

 

“I will. Where is Loras?”

 

“Standing vigil by Renly’s body, he hasn’t slept since the skirmish.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“You going to see your last husband?”

 

“No.”

 

Margaery got up, waving off the offered drinks and food from the servant. She needed to plant some seeds in her husband’s head. Foster and nurture them.

 

***

 

Her grandmother’s story which she told Margaery when she confessed she was first having just a sordid affair rang truer now than then. The story about how she didn’t want to marry into the inbred Targaryen dynasty so used the weapon which women had to get what she wanted. It didn’t seem too relevant at the time, but now… Now was different. 

 

He was sleeping where she had left him. The sheets had fallen onto the floor. Her husband was snoozing naked on their new bed, in their new upgraded solar. Margaery walked to the foot of her bed and looked down at his peaceful, sleeping form. He was a beautiful man. Handsome was the word for men wasn’t it? Well either way, she hadn’t ever seen him just sleeping. They had to run around and be quick and not be caught and something as simple as sleeping was lost. 

 

She had tried not to stare. Tried not to be suspicious lest they were found out. Now it was out in the open and already she was moving onto the next plot without taking a moment to take in what was good in her life. 

 

“Hey,” Robb grumbled, his voice hoarse, looking up at her with tired eyes for a moment and smiling before closing his eyes again and rolling onto his side searching lazily for the sheets. 

 

“Hey,” Margaery returned, picking up the sheet for him and throwing over him. She poured him a measure of water and sat on the edge of the bed letting him take small sips before lying back down. 

 

“Have you been out?”

 

“Yeah to see my family quickly, I thought you could use the rest,” Margaery told him as she played lovingly with his thick, curly hair. 

 

“I could,” Robb propped himself up on the pillows and smiled at her, “you’re way too overdressed.”

 

“I am, aren’t I?” 

 

Slipping out of her clothes with her back turned she looked over her shoulder. “Don’t peek.” He covered his eyes with his hands like a child would waiting for a present. She slid into the bed, her form fitting into his. Robb’s chest pressing into her back and arms engulfing her and holding her tight. He was still exhausted and she could see the marks of war all over his forearms. 

 

The sight of him in his armor returning from the fighting at first made her swoon then up close her heart felt like it would explode. His armor was a mess. Dented in every single place it was possible to dent and coated in blood… Luckily not his own.

 

“You sleeping?”

 

“No, trying to,” he mumbled sleepily. 

 

“The word is Stannis getting worse.”

 

“Really?” 

 

Robb didn’t sound interested. The idea of sleeping seemed to take precedent. 

 

“Yes, Jon Arryn’s funeral is the morning of his coronation… If he makes it until then.”

 

“Queen Shireen rhymes,” Robb mumbled.

 

“That’s right honey it does. Queen Shireen doesn’t sound right.”

 

“Jealous of the girl? Queen Margaery sounds better does it?”

 

“Of course. Doesn’t King Robb Stark sound good.”

 

Robb barked a laugh before wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tight, “shush sleepy now.”

 

-S-

 

The world was getting slightly darker. Around the corner of his eyes he could see darkness coming in. His energy was gone. Still Stannis forced himself to pretend he was fine. His maester Cressen was tending to him at every free moment. Pouring burning hot wine into the rotted flesh and tutting at the wound.

 

“You need to rest your grace,” Davos was worrying about him in every private moment.

 

“You’ve said that,” he spat back. He heard him the first time. “I’m not going to. Have the ravens been sent Cressen?”

 

“Yes your grace.”

 

“Ravens to each High Lord of Westeros informing them of the Lannister coup. The Lannister betrayal and the illegitimacy of Robert’s children,” Stannis explained to Davos. The man couldn’t read and needed such things explained. “Shireen and Selyse are ordered to return from Dragonstone.”

 

“Lord Arryn’s wife won’t be here for the funeral.”

 

“No she won’t. I’ve sent Littlefinger to the Vale with Jon’s armor and sword to return to the Eyrie.”

 

“An honorable thing to do.”

 

“The right thing to do,” Stannis hissed in pain as Cressen applied some medicine to his gut wound. He held out his hand and spat into it. There was still blood in his salvia. That wasn’t a good sign. Stannis knew if he died there would be a scramble for the throne. He needed men of honor such as Ned Stark, as much as that pained him, and Hoster Tully to hold his daughter’s rightful place if he passed. “That’ll be fine,” he waved off his maester. 

 

“Please Stannis don’t be stubborn.”

 

The new King almost agreed to allow him to continue. That was the voice the man used when he was growing up as a small child. But no. Stannis had things to do. Such as choosing a new head of the Gold Cloaks and assembling allies. 

 

The Lannisters were vicious and only a fool would doubt the ability of Tywin Lannister in the field. 

 

He remembered the lesson about the strength of one united force versus a looser but larger force his father had taught him and his deceased brothers. 60,000 men coming from the West while he was assembling men from the South to the North could unseat him. Then the opportunists in the Capitol and Kingdoms would leave him immediately and this would be all for naught.

 

***

 

The Tyrells looked at him with utter contempt. They had acted out of self-preservation and self-aggrandizement. This was not honor for them. The darkness had noticeably crawled deeped into his vision. The tunnel which he saw the world narrowing. He now had to turn his head to see things which should have been in his outer field of vision.

 

Robb Stark looked exhausted. The lad had fought well for him. He admitted that begrudgingly. It wasn’t a great state of affairs that Robb Stark was his new closest ally here. A man who couldn’t honor his wedding vows and was now linked to the Reach by marriage. 

 

“Have you written your father yet?”

 

“No…” Robb looked bashful. “I will straight after this.”

 

“Well I have. I have sent every raven in the Capitol to every lord informing them of the situation. To call their banners. All but you Lord Tyrell. Have you seen to this matter?”

 

“I have yes. Lord Tarly and my son Garlan are mustering our men. However I would like to discuss the future of the realm and what will…”

 

Stannis zoned him out. The pain was getting too much, cutting his insides and sending spasms of agony out of gut to the tip of his toes and top of his head. He had to grit his teeth hard together in order to stay conscious. It wasn’t working. Sound had left him. Nothing but a high pitched ringing and a queasy blurred lense ruined his vision and made the world spin. 

 

He tried to stand to clear his head.

 

-R-

 

Gods Mace Tyrell could bluster on. Just rambling and rambling on. Stannis looked bored. It would make him laugh if he did just get up and walk away. The new King finally stood during the long soliloquy Robb’s good-father was delivering, he almost smiled until Stannis collapsed, and rolled down the stairs.

 

The guards around him rushed to help him up. 

 

Robb knew he was way in over his head. He needed his father. Did his father long for his own father, Robb’s grandfather, when circumstances surged and overtook him. 

 

Mace left with the gaggle of minor Lords who had stayed around. Robb looked up at the Iron Throne. A lot of people had died the other night. That was just a drop in the ocean compared to the blood which was about to be spilled. 

 

Despite the horror of the fighting in the Red Keep the idea of him being in charge, being a military leader was exciting. Yes it was true that he was worried about the events, they were scary but… The idea of his father, the legendary Eddard Stark. The Warden of the North! The man who killed the Sword of the Morning! Coming South and putting Robb back into his place as a boy who had no command; that he didn’t like. 

 

Robb took a step up towards the Iron Throne.

 

He may have disliked aspects of the Capitol however the freedom and autonomy which it provided he liked. He hadn’t had a cold or felt sick since arriving. He hadn’t worried about snow and ice freezing his joints. He hadn’t thought about Winterfell much actually. He hadn’t longed to be back in the North since he met Margaery.

 

One more step.

 

The disappointment in his parents faces when they found out he had dishonored his wedding vows was something he wanted to avoid like the pox. Taking commands and having to be told what to do he equally wanted to avoid.

 

Another step.

 

Where had this strict adherence to honor and duty got his family? It had got his Aunt raped and murdered by a Prince. His Uncle and Grandfather throttled and burnt alive respectively by a King. Then his father shed blood for a drunkard who couldn’t even keep his wife from providing him with false heirs. His father went back North. Achieving nothing but handing the Kingdoms to an idiot. An idiot who needed more Northern blood to keep the Iron Isles in line.

 

Step up.

 

The North was poor. The North was bleak. Yet the wealth of the Southern Kingdoms was protected with Northern steel whenever they needed it. Providing everything it had and received NOTHING in return.

 

Robb got on the same level as the Iron Throne. The swords jutting out, the candles lighting the Great Hall making the tips of the blades dance over the walls. 

 

He was married off into the Lannister family at his father’s behest. Don’t think of Myrcella. Don’t even think her name. Why did she have to get captured?! No. Never mind that now. 

 

He was married off into the Lannister family at his father’s behest in order to please the fat, drunk King. He did what he was meant to do and almost was assassinated twice for his troubles. He wasn’t happy and the order of the realm was a farce. When he did what he wasn’t meant to do but felt right he was happy. He was in love with Margaery. He had the marriage he ought to have had in the beginning. He forged that himself. 

 

Robb touched the pommel of the sword which made up the armrest of the throne.

 

He touched the pommel of his own sword. The sword which he carved down the Red and Gold cloaks. He killed a Kingsguard. Meryn Trant was under the ground because of him. He didn’t deserve to be an afterthought. His marriage was now the most powerful union of any marriage in the Seven Kingdoms. He knew Margaery was just joking but…

 

Footsteps behind made him jump away from the Iron Throne as if he had done something wrong. It was just some servants. One more glance at the throne he went to leave. 

 

***

 

“Stannis collapsed in the throne room.”

 

“He’s not going to make it is he my lord?”

 

“No probably not.”

 

“The Kingdoms need a King my lord.”

 

“It can’t be Mace Tyrell surely my lord?”

 

Robb had gathered the smattering of men who made up what was left of his guard in the small barracks they had been allotted. Eleven of the thirty he came with. 

 

“No it can’t be.”

 

“Who is there? Your father wouldn’t want the crown my lord.”

 

“No he wouldn’t.”

 

“Maybe you should just take the throne Lord Stark, it would solve all this infighting.”

 

The man said it as a joke, but Robb didn’t laugh. His other men didn’t laugh. They just looked at him. Was he considering this? How would it even happen… No he was being silly. He was just a boy. Though boys had been conquerors before. They had been Kings before. He needed to think.

 

-T-

 

He hadn’t been gone from home for long and yet it felt like an age. He returned to his quarters immediately with a jug full of wine. He wasn’t to blame for this fucking mess. Though now he did have blood on his hands. However he would let Cersei feel the wrath of father. Stannis’ raven had arrived right before them. 

 

Cersei was in a rage that Myrcella had been left behind. They had won the battle in the Red Keep and they had a hostage. The Tyrell family had aligned with everyone else and the Westerlands were in hot water. 

 

Tywin would beside himself. 

 

Tyrion didn’t need to experience that. It was nice not to be the family’s disappointment anymore. His sister had barged him over and snatched that mantle from him. 

 

Arriving at Casterly Rock he noticed the gathering soldiers. The tents already being pitched. His father was aware of what was happening to some extent. 

 

Things were going to get bloody very quickly. 

 

-M-

 

“Loras isn’t joining us,” Mace sat down with a little bit of a wobble at the gazebo. “He refuses to leave Renly’s body. They were very close friends. Anyway, good of you to come too son.” Her father calling Rob ‘son,’ was a bit overly familiar but it was still nice. Her father’s big heart was one of the reasons she loved him so dearly.

 

“Thank you for inviting me my lord.”

 

“Please, please, Mace, call me Mace, we’re family!”

 

“Well thank you. Mace.”

 

Apparently their infidelity which exorcised her father so deeply before was forgotten. It was such a nice feeling to be able to sit as a couple. Holding hands in front of her family.

 

“Oh come off it Mace, this nonsense is a waste of time,” her grandmother snapped. “Look here our new and beloved King is not long for this world it would seem.”

 

“Stannis is a tough bastard,” Robb said diplomatically. “It’ll take a lot to kill him.”

 

“A gut wound is a lot. It would already have killed most men,” Olenna dismissed him. “We need to prepare for his end.”

 

“It… Yes alright then,” Robb nodded, he clearly thought about arguing but gave it up. 

 

“This is too much excitement for me,” Olenna carried on. Margaery was glad it was the Queen of Thorns who was taking the lead in this. “Another day and another plot. At least I don’t have to move much. If we all lose and are dead and if I were our enemies I would break this table and burn down this rose garden.”

 

“We won’t lose.”

 

“Bravado has its place son but plotting isn’t the time for it. Now if Stannis falls how do we proceed?”

 

Margaery felt Robb tense up through his arm.

 

“We need a King.”

 

“We need a new Lord of the Stormlands and a King.”

 

“Lords come second, Kings come first.”

 

“I don’t understand the precedent for having no King.”

 

“The precedent is someone claims some strenuous connection to the throne and they take it. That’s what happens. That is what happened last time. Before that. 300 years ago it was strength of arms. We have strength of arms. Not dragons admittedly. But strength of arms. We just need a King,” Olenna explained to her son. Margaery knew what her grandmother wanted. She had hinted at it to her after the battle. 

 

“Any suggestions?”

 

“No offence son, but it shouldn’t be you.”

 

“I don’t take offence mother I don’t want to be King. I want to be Hand of the King. I want men from the Reach to dominate the Small Council. However the crown. That’s an honor I could do without.”

 

Mace Tyrell sounded very wise for once. He was known as a good ruler because despite being a bit puffed up and aloof he was aware of his own limitations. He was a good delegator. A good man. Margaery smiled at her father. He didn’t see. He was focused on Olenna Redwyne.

 

“We need a King who is young. Who is strong. Who is capable. Who has strong ties to the other houses,” Olenna stated matter of factly. Mace nodded along with each point. 

 

***

 

Robb was away having new armor made. She had pushed for him to get extravagant armor, with the direwolf over each shoulder pauldron. The armor of a King. 

 

It was strange. She had never been particularly ambitious… Well she hadn’t right up until the moment when the opportunity presented itself. Now everything had changed. Now she really wanted more from life. She wanted power and position. It had come over her like a disease, obsessing over it every moment. 

 

First however she needed to speak to someone. Someone who she didn’t want to be alive.

 

-Myr-

 

There was a growing pile of balled up pieces of paper on her desk. Every time Myrcella tried to put pen to paper nothing came out write. Who to write to. What to write. It was nothing. She had nothing. Apart from a sense that she might be going crazy. In her mind as soon as Robb came and found what had happened to his wife she would rescued from this nightmare. 

 

The door opened and one of the two guards who didn’t speak entered. 

 

“Yes?” Myrcella asked angrily. She hated that man. Didn’t know his name but knew she hated him. She would have him punished for his role in her capture. 

 

“A visitor.”

 

“Robb?!” Myrcella jumped to her feet knocking her chair backwards and throwing down her quill in excitement. 

 

The man just shook his head and left the room. It didn’t make sense when Margaery Tyrell of all people came into the room. The pleasant sparkle to her eye and the soft smile she had had previously was gone. The other woman appraised her with dislike and contempt. 

 

“Lady Baratheon?”

 

“Stark.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“It’s Lady Stark.”


	17. -1-7-

-R-

 

Tobho Mott may have provided him with gifts for that bastard Joffrey but now he was going to get something indulgent for himself. Practical. Though Indulgent. Margaery had said he ought to have armor he wanted not the armor he felt he ought to have because of being a Stark. That was true.

 

His new armor was expensive plate steel. With two snarling direwolves on each shoulder facing outwards; their jaws snarling to the left and to the right. His new sword was castle forged steel, tinted grey over the blade and green and gold over the cross guard. The handle was mahogany with a silver and gold panel either side.

 

Truly indulgent. 

 

It was more protective than his previous set of armor. Just looked far more like a… well like he imagined King Robert Baratheon looked at the Trident. His helm’s stag antlers towering above him. Even Prince Rhaegar, with his ruby dragons. 

 

Robb had dressed in it in his solar when it was brought from the city by two apprentices and Tobho Mott who wanted compliments. The perfection of armor meant Robb did begrudgingly have to compliment the man. 

 

He had charged the huge expense to the royal treasury. He figured that he had lost his previous set to fighting for the new King. However brief his reign may or may not be. 

 

Robb was tempted to ask the master blacksmith how much a crown of bronze and iron swords would be. Though decided against it. That was probably in poor taste. Also word spread. He was just fantasizing. That what he kept telling himself. He didn’t believe the lie but he kept telling himself that anyway. 

 

He wanted to wait to let Margaery see him in his new armor. He had gotten it for her too. Trying to impress her.

 

Though looking at himself reflected back in the mirror Margaery didn’t come to mind. A crown came to mind. A crown of bronze and iron. Resting on his brow. Then Margaery came to mind. Standing by his side. A crown of roses twisted together from silver and gold on her brow.

 

What a King and a Queen ought to look like. Robb wondered where she might be. Perhaps he could catch Mott. 

 

-A-

 

The wagon kept rocking really hard. The bruises on her legs and knees and well everywhere were horrible. Horrible and growing sore. However despite her massive doubts the plan had worked so far. She had moped around and locked herself in her bed chamber for days before her father was departing. Then shouted to ‘go away,’ if anyone came and they had been leaving her alone. That ought to give her life as a stowaway a little bit of time. 

 

Then what? Probably back to Winterfell. Still the idea of having to stay with Bran, Rickon and Sansa was horrible. Jon was off to the Wall and Robb had been gone ages and he hadn’t written once. The last time she saw him it was at his wedding and she wanted to cry at the idea of leaving him there. Then he didn’t write once? Father got a letter from Stannis and had to leave. Leaving with rather a lot of men from rather a lot of Northern houses. Rather a lot more than was needed for a peaceful visit.

 

***

 

When was she going to be discovered? In all honesty she hadn’t expected to get this far. However far she was. Also she liked to think that she was tough and adventurous. Far more so than her siblings. Well apart from Jon and Robb. Still they were away. There was no way in hell she was going to left at home. Waiting to get married off to Domeric Bolton or some bearded Karstark. That was what she told herself in her moments of doubt. Better to be isolated and risk this.

 

Arya’s mind was all over the place. It was probably from living off small sips of water and bread that she stole from the kitchens and had gone stale before the wagons pulled out of the yard in Winterfell.

 

The weather was getting warmer. It must have been days. They must have crossed the Neck. If they got to Riverrun then at least if she was discovered Arya might get to stay there for a while. See more of the Realm.

 

Just wanted to see Robb. 

 

***

 

It was getting too much. How hadn’t she been discovered? Arya needed food badly. It was time to sneak out of her hiding place and find something. It was night. She had no idea if it had just become night or it was the early morning.

 

She thought maybe she had become a master of stealth. As Arya snuck out. There was a full blown military camp… Wow. Tents stretched out as far…

 

“Hey, look what we got ‘ere lads.”

 

Oh no.

 

Arya turned to see where the danger was coming from only to turn right into a gaggle of soldiers. She was lifted by the scruff of her neck.

 

“A stowaway!”

 

Arya tried to wriggle free.

 

“Let go!”

 

“Let her go you fucking idiot.”

 

Another man approached.

 

“What? Why the fuck should I? I found her!” The man holding her snarled.

 

“That’s Ned’s daughter you moron.”

 

She was dropped immediately.

 

“I’m sorry milady. Shit. Sorry. I’m sorry,” the man went from being aggressive to clement in a moment. “I didn’t know.” Why was he was so scared. It was hardly like her father had the reputation for being cruel. 

 

***

 

“Arya… Arya... Arya…” 

 

Her father didn’t seem to know what to say. She had never seen him angry. Well not with her or her siblings. She kind of wished he was. This disappointment was palpable. Her mother had left Winterfell too but she had gone to Riverrun. They were nearer Harrenhal. Fat Tom had explained that to her kindly as she was led to the tent where her father was based.

 

“This is… Arya, I don’t know what to do with you.”

 

“I wanted to see Robb,” her voice came out like a little girl. All her bravado gone. Back to being the little girl she technically was but hated thinking of herself as. 

 

Her father sighed closing his icy grey eyes and rubbing his face. He looked exhausted. He didn’t take the death of Jon Arryn well. He didn’t want to go to war again. 

 

“I’m going to send you home.”

 

“Father!”

 

“Enough! Look, look you need to eat, wash and we’ll find you some clean clothes. You can sleep in my tent I’ll find somewhere else.”

 

“And then…” Arya asked in a small, timid voice.

 

“Tomorrow… I don’t know. This is a surprise Arya. Didn’t you think? The people at Winterfell are probably going crazy; thinking you’ve disappeared! Run away. Worse.”

 

“I want to see Robb,” she repeated.

 

“My sister… You remind me of her,” her father sighed again and rubbed his face again. “I’ll have food and water brought. Sleep. We’ll speak on the morrow.”

 

He patted her on the shoulder and went to leave before pausing. “Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. The ‘Wolf Blood', my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave”

 

That could have gone worse.

 

Besides Arya was secretly glad to be safe and warm and with a paternal figure again. Food would be good. The week, perhaps, that may have passed, she had already lost weight.

 

***

 

Arya’s heart couldn’t have gone out more for her father. He was sending her home. Yet not straight back. He was sending her back from King’s Landing to White Harbor. Lord Manderly was nice from what she remembered. Fat yes, but nice.

 

Now on a horse heading into the South she felt nervous about seeing what was down there. Starks hadn’t had the best luck coming to the South.

 

***

 

Two weeks it took for them to all get to the capitol. It looked smaller than before. Though the first time she had looked at it with resentful eyes. Comparing it to Winterfell. At least the awful Queen wouldn’t be there. Though she wasn’t Queen anymore. 

 

Her father looked stressed and he had been talking to Lord Umber and Lord Karstark almost exclusively. 

 

There were 8,000 men camped around Antlers.

 

While around five hundred men and the high lords of the North and Lord Mallister and Lord Blackwood from the Riverlands came into the city. More and more of their allies were arriving by the hour.

 

-S-

 

The blackness was closing in. The maesters hadn’t helped. Cressen had done him well. Writing to everyone with any medical knowledge everywhere. Stannis knew it was all for naught. He was dead. It was just a matter of time. His daughter would need to take the crown. Before he passed.

 

Eddard Stark was marching South. Almost here. It pained Stannis more than the whole dying thing that the Warden of the North was his last hope. If he got into King’s Landing before Stannis died then the man would keep his daughter on the throne. He knew he would. The Riverlands, The North and the Stormlands could keep Shireen alive and in power. 

 

He could barely keep his eyes open on the Iron Throne as he listened to people waffling on about nothing of importance.

 

***

 

“Your father is almost here Stark.”

 

“Yes your grace.”

 

“I summoned you for a very specific reason. I won’t make it. This,” Stannis pointed to the heavily bandaged wound in his gut. “Is the end of me.”

 

“Surely no…”

 

“Stop! I do not need to coddled like a child. It is the end of me. If I pass I need you to give him a letter.”

 

“Of course your grace.”

 

“There is pen and paper there,” he pointed. It was hard to raise his arm.

 

“Your grace?”

 

“I can barely see. I can barely move. I’ll sign my name.”

 

“Of course your grace.”

 

Stannis closed his eyes. The darkness was getting more comfortable to reside in. The world of barely registering light becoming almost impossible to force himself to remain in. Stannis remained in the light anyway. No matter how hard it was. 

 

“Ready? Good. I Stannis Baratheon, first of my name, you know the rest,” he gritted his teeth and sucked air in. It wasn’t like him to ignore the formalities. It was the sort of thing Robert would have done. “Name Shireen Baratheon as the Queen… Fill in the details later.”

 

“Yes your grace.”

 

“Please shut up. Now. Shireen… I said that didn’t I? I name Eddard Stark as protector of the Realm and Hand of the King. Whoever marries Shireen must take the Baratheon name.”

 

Stannis nodded to Robb to hand him the paper. He couldn’t read it however he could still sign his name. He did. Then motioned for his stamp with his sigil on it. 

 

He closed his eyes and let the darkness. The lovely, comforting darkness engulf him like a wave cooling the burning which had made up his existence since that long and violent night.

 

-R-

 

He now held Stannis Baratheon, the last of his family name’s final will and testament. He walked to the balcony and tore it into as many pieces as possible and threw it to the wind. 

 

Robb strode to the door and yanked it open.

 

“The King has passed.”

 

His soldiers rushed in from their guard post to check on their King. 

 

Robb heard them calling after him but he ignored them.

 

Robb had a path.

 

Ignore the doubts.

 

Ignore THEM.

 

TAKE WHAT YOU WANT.

 

He made his way to the Rose Garden.

 

***

 

“I had wanted to speak to Mace Tyrell.”

 

“Did you?”

 

“Ha. No.”

 

“I didn’t think so.”

 

“Stannis has passed.”

 

“You’re sure?” Olenna asked him.

 

“Yes. I was there. I took his last will.”

 

“Do you have it?”

 

“No I ripped it to pieces and threw it away.”

 

“You did do you?”

 

“I did.”

 

“And why did you do that?”

 

“Shireen is a nice girl. I wish her the best…”

 

“Yet?”

 

“We need a King.”

 

“We do.”

 

“I am that King.”

 

“I agree.”

 

“Beca… Wait you do?” Robb spluttered. He had to build up his confidence to say those word. Then to have Olenna. Who was the de facto head of the Reach. Just agreeing with him wrongfooted Robb.

 

“Yes. It makes perfect sense.”

 

“I don’t know if I can convince Margaery…”

 

“Leave that to me,” Olenna told him. Robb saw the mischief in her eyes which he was first attracted to in his wife dancing in this old ladies’. 

 

“I don’t know if she’ll…”

 

“Shhh, shhh, shhh,” the Queen of Thorns held up a finger. “I’ll sort that. Reports say your father and his army will be here soon. What will you tell him?”

 

“That I am the King.”

 

“What if he says that Shireen Baratheon should be Queen?”

 

“Well… If… If that… I don’t…” Robb floundered.

 

“Do you want to be King that badly?”

 

“Yes!” He replied with determination. “NO!” Robb caught himself. “I don’t want to be King. I’m the best person to be King.”

 

“I agree. Leave it to me.”

 

-Myr-

 

“Stark?!”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’m Princess Stark,” Myrcella shot back. She had never had a problem with Margaery Tyrell but all of a sudden a cascade of hatred towards the woman came rushing over her. 

 

“You’re not. You’re not a princess anymore,” Margaery told her. She pulled up a seat and fixed Myrcella with a look of pure arrogance. Pure arrogance and pure disdain. “You’re not a Stark.”

 

“I want to see Robb.”

 

“Robb Stark?” Margaery shot back. Her eyes had a nasty glint to them. They danced with a nasty vindictiveness. 

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well my husband is busy.”

 

Myrcella couldn’t process what was just said to her. What? No her husband. She tried to say something back. Nothing came to mind.

 

“My husband is busy. My husband, my husband Robb Stark that is,” Margaery said with a vile smile. “I thought when he was busy I would come and speak to you. He has more important things to get on with than be whined at by his cast offs.”

 

Once again Myrcella couldn’t find anything to say. She was unsure of what had happened to her. That she had been left behind. However, she managed to stay sane with the idea of Robb rescuing her. This bitch was now shattering her sanity.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Margaery continued as she stood up and walked over to Myrcella and took some of her blonde hair in her finger and caressed it tenderly. Myrcella loathed her touch, but was frozen. “So gorgeous,” she muttered to herself. “When I was fucking your husband behind your back I couldn’t believe he chose me over you.”

 

If Myrcella thought she couldn’t find the words before now was even worse. Nothing came to mind. Her mind was full of empty tremors. 

 

“Yet he did. He chose me.” 

 

Margaery shot her the cockiest grin that possibly ever existed.Just full of smug self-satisfaction. A look which was intended to wound her as well. Was Myrcella really so blind that she missed that. Thinking Margaery Tyrell was a sweet girl and glad her Uncle had married her. Yet she was cruel. 

 

“Nothing to say?”

 

“Fuck you,” was all Myrcella could manage. It was the first time she had sworn in her life.

 

Margaery just shrugged and smiled that cruel smile once again. Clearly unphased. 

 

“So pretty,” Margaery said appraising her before leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. Myrcella shivered but was still unable to make her body move. She couldn’t even stop Margaery use just one finger under her chin to push her face up and make eye contact. She could feel the cold tears running down her cheeks. Margaery took one of the teardrops on her fingertip, smiled again, then licked it off, then left.

 

***

 

Myrcella had crumbled to pieces. She tried to piece herself back together and crumbled once again. Finally she managed to take in what Margaery Tyrell said to her. It didn’t make sense. Her body was numb. Numb yet aching with awkward and painful agony. 

 

It did come together at last. 

 

Robb had left her for Margaery Tyrell. Her family left her for dead. Her title of princess was left in the dust. No. It was left in the dirt. She had no value. Nothing left. Margaery Tyrell was a cruel person, yet there was something about the way she had talked down to her which she didn’t quite get. From what she understood she had nothing left. Nothing. Nothing left. 

 

***

 

She was nothing. Her father was apparently not her father. She didn’t want to believe that. However if it wasn’t true why would she be left in the city alone. It was true wasn’t it? She was a nothing. With nothing left.

 

Nothing left was now the motto of her life.

 

She still wanted to see Robb.

 

She hated swearing but if her father wasn’t her father and if her mother left her alone then she would do what she needed to do to survive.

 

Myrcella promised herself she would survive this.

 

-A-

 

The hug she got from her Uncle Edmure was awkward and forced. The one she got her great-Uncle; the Blackfish, was pure and comforting. They arrived with 4,000 men from the Riverlands right before they went into King’s Landing. 

 

Despite all of her reservations she did feel important. Her father insisted that she rode with him at the front of the column. She felt very important. Though the fact her misbehavior had paid off probably wasn’t a good thing. 

 

Worry about that later.

 

The Gold Cloaks looked down at the floor. They didn’t seem to have the arrogance and brash self-confidence they did when she first came to the city. Letting a King die would probably do that. 

 

The smell was unbearable. What an awful place. It was no wonder that her father called it a ‘viper’s nest.’ 

 

The people looked scared of them. Well maybe not her. They looked terrified. Arya thought that maybe she should have stayed in Winterfell… Robb would be returning to the North soon anyway. 

 

The first thing she noticed riding up to the Red Keep were the lack of banners. No crowned Stag and Lion. No Stag. Nothing. Dismounting Arya couldn’t help but feel nervous. The city was oppressive. More so than normal. She hadn’t really been told what had happened past the King had passed. 

 

There weren’t any Gold Cloaks in the Red Keep. Instead men in the green of House Tyrell stood guard. A lot of them. An infestation almost. 

 

“Arya stay at the back with your Uncle,” her father whispered in her ear before pushing her off to the Blackfish. He made his way to the front of his lords and they all marched up the stairs. She had trouble keeping up and was out of breath as this smaller group of twenty or so entered the Red Keep. It was creepy. No one had spoken to them yet. The Tyrell guards just watched with cold, emotionless eyes. Not blocking them nor acknowledging them.

 

She hadn’t gone in the Throne Room before, it was off limits to her during Robb’s wedding. 

 

It was huge. The ceiling was far higher than anything Winterfell had. The columns wrapped in twisting flowers towering above her. She finally saw a few friendly faces. There were a handful of the Winterfell guard who stayed with Robb near the empty throne. Otherwise it was Tyrell men, ubiquitously filling the hall. 

 

A large, fat man was by the steps leading up to the throne, with a young lady and an old haggard woman leaning on a walking cane by his side.

 

“Lord Tyrell,” her father called out. This didn’t feel welcoming, his voice rang unpleasantly back into her ears in the huge, silent hall. The fat man walked down the steps to shake her father’s hand. “Where is King Stannis?”

 

“I’m afraid he passed Lord Stark,” Tyrell replied looking uncomfortable. “Yesterday afternoon.”

 

“Where is his daughter?”

 

“In Dragonstone, or on the way here from Dragonstone, we don’t know.”

 

“Where is Cersei Lannister?”

 

“We assume Casterly Rock.”

 

“Have you begun mustering your banners?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“The Riverlands is too. Along their borders.”

 

“Good. Good.”

 

“Where is my son?”

 

“On his way.”

 

The silence stretched out again. She truly wished she had remained in Winterful. More and more by the second. Arya’s heart almost exploded when the silent tension was broken by the doors to the Throne Room opening behind them. A bald man scurried in with a tall handsome boy with dark jet black hair holding a box.

 

They stopped halfway up the hall and lingered there eyeing the head of the hall suspiciously. 

 

This was an odd place.

 

Once more the silence was broken. This time by the clinking of steel. Armored feet on stone.

 

That… No that wasn’t… He looked familiar the man in the decorative armor. Two snarling direwolves carved into the shoulders and over the chest. He looked liked Robb. Just there was something missing. Some warmth gone from his face. He looked out of place in his foreign armor. His facial hair was trimmed differently. His hair was shorter. 

 

He didn’t walk down to their father, he walked over to the girl standing with the Tyrells and wrapped his arm around her waist before facing his father.

 

“Father, welcome back to the capitol,” Robb spoke stiffly. His voice was slightly off sounding to Arya’s ear. Still him but the rough edges of the Northern accent softened and rounded off by the Southern dialect. She also noticed that her brother’s hair was a lighter shade of brown. Streaked by the sun. 

 

“Robb, it is good to see, despite these odd circumstances.”

 

Arya was proud to see her father had clearly taken control of the room. Mace Tyrell despite being a Warden too was looking anxiously at him.

 

“Father this is my wife Margaery Tyrell.”

 

“Your wife? You remarried quickly.”

 

“Aye, we did.”

 

“I brought eight thousand men, the Tullys are bringing five.”

 

“That’s all?” the old woman piped her. A confidence in her voice Arya would not have expected.

 

“We came quick. More will come. On good faith I might add, I haven’t had anything explained to me past Robert is dead. Now that Stannis is gone.”

 

“Renly too.”

 

“Yes, of course he must be. Not wishing to have my prejudices confirmed but I’m presuming the Lannisters are involved in this mess?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“War then?”

 

“It would appear so.”

 

“Father would you like to find some chambers and I’ll come join you when you’re settled?” Robb asked. He wouldn’t have spoken to their father like that before. 

 

“Very well.”

 

Her father turned and left with his lords. Arya just shuffled away too. Robb hadn’t even looked at her. He hadn’t shaken father’s hand even.

 

As they left the bald man and the young man rushed forward. Up close it was clear he was a blacksmith, as the younger man was covered in soot and burn marks. There eyes made contact for a brief second and then they were both gone.

 

“I didn’t like how Robb spoke,” she caught up with her father.

 

“Nor did I child. Nor did I.”

 

-M-

 

“Your father looks serious. His eyes are like chips of ice,” she told her husband. She had made Robb stand in the centre of their room in his new armor so she could admire him properly. It was a sight to see. The direwolves were incredible. Fierce and snarling. The crossguard of his new sword had the colors of her house. “I sent some of the left Lannister money to pay for it.”

 

“Is that legal?”

 

“No one will know.”

 

“I suppose not.”

 

“So it doesn’t matter,” Margaery leaned into his ear and resting her hand on the direwolf head she kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “What’s in the box?”

 

“Something I shouldn’t have got,” Robb frowned at her and glanced over to the box the blacksmith had brought. “A moment of arrogance took me.”

 

“Can I open it?”

 

“I’m not sure…”

 

“That’s not a no,” Margaery hummed kissing him quickly before spinning on her heel to rush over to the box. She pulled the heavy bolt out of the lock and flipped the lid back. There were two separate cushions and something resting on them covered by elegant patches of cloth. One branded grey and the other green. It was obvious what was under them. Margaery was glad Robb didn’t need to be convinced that power was something they could truly enjoy together. Glancing over her shoulder biting down on her lip she caught Robb’s eye. “Leave the armor on for a moment more my love? With this?” She waited until Robb came to join her, wrapping an arm of steel around her stomach. His body propped her’s up as she gasped.

 

It was a silver and golden crown. A thinner, delicate band of twisted roses, the stems entwined perfectly. The head of the rose at the front was filled with precious stones. Margaery went to pick it up but Robb lightly grabbed her wrist.

 

“No one can know we have these right now.”

 

“Fine, fine.”

 

He let go and she lifted the diadem and placed it on her head. 

 

“How do I look?”

 

“Gorgeous,” Robb turned her around in his arms to face him and to kiss her. “Like a Queen.”

 

“Try yours on.”

 

“I shouldn’t. I need to talk to my father.”

 

“There’s no way in hell am I letting you leave this room before you try it on,” Margaery playfully scolded him placing a hand on her hip. “I am a Queen after all,” she adjusted the crown which felt natural on her head. Robb smiled but nodded. She turned and to returned to the box to fetch the second crown. Picking up the cushion it lay on with the cloth still covering it she returned to Robb.

 

She wanted to build up a moment of drama but was too excited, whipping the cloth off.

 

It was wrought iron and bronze. Swords jutting out, mirroring the swords of the Iron Throne itself. She picked it up and placed it on his head not breaking eye contact. She then curtseyed and he broke their gaze to laugh. 

 

“I have to go see my family.”

 

Robb told her as he went to put the crown back. As his back was turned Margaery slipped out of her clothes. He almost tripped on his feet when he saw her.

 

“They’ve been travelling along way,” she took a step towards him, “waiting a little longer won’t hurt.” Another step wrapping her hands behind his head and tangling her fingers in his hair.

 

-A-

 

“Where’s Robb?”

 

“I don’t know Arya.”

 

“He looked different.”

 

“It’s been a while. Young men change a lot, quickly.”

 

“No, he looked different. That armor was odd.”

 

“Maybe it was a gift from his new wife’s family,” her father replied. Arya got the impression he was guarding his true emotions. “They are known for extravagance.” 

 

“Why would he marry without telling us?”

 

“I would imagine that things have been moving a little faster down here. I’m worried about Robb. I was worried before leaving him here, but Jon was a good foster father to me and hoped he would rub off on Robb,” her father explained to her. It felt like she was being let on a moment she would have missed if she hadn’t snuck South. A big, weighty conversation she wouldn’t be privy to in any other timeline. “I worry it has. He was reluctant to speak to me in the throne room. He clearly isn’t in a hurry to come see us.”

 

“He didn’t look at me once.”

 

“No? That is odd. He stood with the Tyrells before greeting us. Oh don’t listen to me Arya,” he stood up and walked to the fire to stoke the flames higher. “I’m just worrying out loud. Robb is probably just worried himself. We’ll speak and it’ll all be fine. Family will perceive.”

 

“He still should have been here like an hour ago.”

 

“When I was his age I had war thrust upon me. Though I was in friendly lands. Had an army and strong allies. Robb was here with a handful of men.”

 

“I didn’t see Alyn.”

 

“No neither did I,” he nodded grimly leaving the flames alone.

 

***

 

Eddard Stark looked serious even as he snoozed in his armchair. They had been travelling for along time. Arya wasn’t sleeping. She was angry. Really angry. Angry at her brother. What a prick. He couldn’t even spare five minutes for his father?! 

 

She kicked the door really hard before opening it. 

 

The Red Keep was an awful place. It became empty at night. The guards and lords and knights and ladies replaced with dancing shadows cast from the braziers and candles.

 

The throne room was unguarded.

 

The throne was a twisted, evil looking monstrosity. A monument to corruption. Spewing corruption from where it was rooted. The feet of the throne pushing its malicious intentions out into everyone around it.

 

Arya wanted to go home. Take Robb and father with her. Leave this place.

 

She fought back a tear regretting her frivolous decision to come to this place. 

 

-M-

 

“Robb,” she cried out for the who knows how many time. On her knees on the bed with him behind her Margaery just had to press her face into the pillows. He had a new energy and vibe to their love making which she really liked. It wasn’t love making, they were fucking. It was the crown. Her’s had fallen off. She insisted he kept his on. The thought of him behind her, in her, still wearing the crown of a King was just an added turned on.

 

She was close to finishing. No longer able to speak. She tremored and trembled and fell limp. Robb didn’t stop. She was vaguely aware of her shoulders being lifted up by her husband and holding her in place. She finished just over and over again as reality slipped away from her and Robb just kept pounding away in her. Claiming what was his.

 

Finally he pulled out letting her sink into a coma. Still on her knees, her arse in the air, but with her face pressed into the pillows still trying to catch her breath.

 

“You alright?” He asked cockily, kissing her cheek as she finally slumped onto her stomach.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

He started pulling the sheets over them.

 

“Wait,” she mumbled into the pillows. “Wait a second. Wait,” she put her hands down and pressed herself up and grabbed his wrist stopping him pull the sheets up. “Where’s your crown?”

 

“I took it off.”

 

“Put it back on.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I want you to wear it when I suck your cock.”

 

Robb coughed and spluttered but still obeyed and fetched his crown. She kissed him, keeping the kiss going as she pushed his shoulders back and straddled his waist. Margaery kissed down his neck, his chest, reaching down to grasp his length and stroke it. She let her hair fall over the top of her head and trail down his body as she kissed her way down. Positioned between his legs she licked up his shaft.

 

“That good? Your grace?”

 

He growled, and went to reply before she stopped him in his tracks by taking him in her mouth and gliding her mouth down, then up and further down.

 

“Your grace?” She repeated innocently. Before carrying on grabbing his hand and twisting it into her hair for him to hold her. 

 

***

 

It was gratifying to be front and centre for a coup this time around. The last time she was waiting with her father and the women for the soldiers to return. Now they were all here together.

 

Waiting for Eddard Stark to enter the throne room. 

 

All the Tyrells were standing across the top stair leading up to the throne. Some spineless maester was standing by holding something very important. What was left of Robb’s household guard were with them. The Green Cloaks were lining the pillars from throne to door. The new leader of the Gold Cloaks, a Reachman, had a small contingent present too. 

 

Robb was in his new armor. In front of the throne. Waiting. Anxiously. Anxiously waiting.

 

The door finally opened. 

 

Eddard Stark came in. He was a physically intimidating man. However there was something about him. A resonance. 

 

He was followed by two men wearing the sigil of the Tullys and some big scary bearded men. Northern lords. Finally a small teenage girl. Was that Robb’s sister? It didn’t matter right now.

 

“Father, welcome.” 

 

“Robb, you didn’t come last night.”

 

“No. Sorry about that. I was with my new wife.”

 

Her heart skipped at that. She had been chosen over his family. She was his new family.

 

“Well never mind that. We’re here to talk about the future of the realm.”

 

“Yes we are.”

 

“Shireen…”

 

“Isn’t a Queen,” Olenna interrupted Robb’s father.

 

“She is the rightful Queen.”

 

“That isn’t best for the realm,” Mace spoke up.

 

“Who is then?”

 

“Me,” Robb said. His jaw clenched hard, clearly nervous. “I am.”

 

“Robb you can’t be serious? This is…”

 

“It doesn’t matter about succession. It’s what’s best for the realm. I am what’s best.”

 

Margaery never thought it was possible but she was more attracted to Robb in that moment than ever before. 

 

“Robb! This isn’t right, this isn’t honorable, this isn’...”

 

Robb cut his father off holding up at hand. The man actually stopped for his son.

 

“What happened the last time you overthrew a King father? You left a drunkard on the throne. You left a man consumed with alcohol and lust. Was that honorable? I don’t think so.”

 

Robb sat on the throne and signalled to the maester. Margaery shuffled over to stand next to him. The maester revealed the crowns which had already been worn.

 

“I pronounce Robb Stark, first of his name, as King of the Andals and the First men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.” The crown was placed to utter silence on his brow. Stunned silence. “And Margaery Tyrell as his Queen, our Queen.” She stooped to allow the smaller crown to placed on her brow. “All hail the King. All hail the Queen.”

 

The Tyrells cheered and clapped. The handful left of Robb’s men did the same.

 

The Starks and Tullys looked stunned.


	18. -1-8-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been super sick sorry for the late update. Back to normal, weekly now.

-1-8-

 

-R-

 

He had cut his finger. It was so childish, cut the tip on the teeth of the decorative direwolf on the shoulder of his new armor. Watching the blood trickle for a moment before smearing it in between his finger and thumb. The armor was set up on a mannequin in the corner of their solar and he had admired it for an age. 

 

“It looks amazing,” Margaery had stood up from her desk. She was writing something. He had been distracted by his armor. She wrapped her arms around his back and rested her head on his shoulder. 

 

“Not too flashy?”

 

“Define too flashy.”

 

Robb snorted a laugh. Margaery took his cut finger and put it in her mouth, sucking the beads of blood off. There was something very sensual about the way she did that. 

 

“I like it,” he finally spoke up having just been enjoying the intimacy. 

 

“Good. You look great in it. Like Prince Rhaegar on the Trident.”

 

“I thought that. Don’t want to end up like him.”

 

“You won’t. I won’t let that happen.”

 

He believed her. There was a confidence and determination she had which was infectious. It got inside him. 

 

Robb still hadn’t written his father. Eddard Stark was marching South, getting closer by the moment. With a large host. Stannis was looking worse and worse by the moment. If he didn’t make it then Shireen Baratheon would be crowned. The thought made him feel jealous and sick.

 

“I have to go see my family,” Margaery told him. “I want you to wear that later, seeing you in it…” She mock fanned herself as if she was overheating before giggling and kissing him on the cheek and leaving.

 

Another moment alone with his new armor wasn’t good for him. It was mesmerizing. He stared into it. Into the depths of the highly polished steel and was captivated with dreams beyond himself.

 

Those ideas were there though. He kept silencing them. They kept calling back. Roaring into his subconscious. Seeded and festering.

 

***

 

“Who would Shireen marry?” Robb asked Margaery.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Who would she marry? Who is there?”

 

“Well the only highlords who are available and of appropriate age are… Well Robin Arryn.”

 

“He’s too sickly.”

 

“Your younger brothers. Otherwise no one else.”

 

“My younger brother… Bran is of a similar age… He brings the power of the North. With our marriage he gets the Reach…”

 

The thought disgusted Robb. Bran was a great kid. However after all the blood that was spilled by him personally to then hand the crown off to his brother was an outrage. He racked his mind, finding the depth of it, looking for any name. None came to mind. 

 

The idea of crowning himself had just been fantasy. Just a nice piece of escapism to keep himself happy in these dark times. However it didn’t make sense not to think more seriously about the crown. 

 

King Bran Baratheon. 

 

It made him dislike his own brother for one unguarded, honest, moment.

 

Who else was there?! Theon… No that wasn’t even funny. 

 

He needed a drink. Opening the door to solar he shouted more rudely than he meant to at a passing servant to bring some Arbor Red. Trying to keep his mind clear until it came. His eyes drawn back to the suit of armor, imaging himself with the crown on too. 

 

It wasn’t even selfish to think of it. It really wasn’t. It was a huge burden to be King and he was willing to shoulder that burden for the realm… It was the honorable way to think. He drained a cup of wine. 

 

Stannis was still alive. This was stupid.

 

***

 

He was drunk, really drunk when Margaery got back. He had wasted his afternoon and evening, pacing, drinking and staring at his armor and imaging himself on the throne. 

 

“Hey,” she greeted him walking over and placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. “What’s…” He stopped her mid sentence turning to pick her up under her arse cheeks and lift her up and carry her to her desk. She wrapped her hands around his neck and her legs around his back. He reached down and fumbled drunkenly at her skirts. “Just tear it,” she breathed into his ear before biting the tip of his earlobe painfully. He growled in response and tore her small clothes off.

 

Tearing his own clothes in eagerness Robb pushed himself inside her. She was tight and almost painful around him, but he didn’t care. The way her nails dug into his shoulders and dug deep, blood coming to the surface, it must have hurt her a bit too. 

 

He didn’t care, he just rammed into her, fast, hard and brutal, using his free hand to push all the quills and papers from the desk. 

 

Her hands went loose as he rocked back and forth in her until she fell back on the desk. He torn the front of her top open, ripping the fabric exposing her breasts and grasping them hard. Using her breasts to help move her back and forth with him.

 

He let go to grab her hip and bury himself in as deep as possible to finish.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered as he pulled out in between ragged breaths. 

 

“For what?” She asked looking confused.

 

“Treating you like that. Couldn’t help it,” he continued to mutter as he picked up his wine and sloshed it about before draining it.

 

“I don’t mind, claiming what’s yours,” she smiled, “leave those we’ll get some servant to pick it up,” she stopped him from retrieving the things he knocked off the table. She pushed him back towards the bed, pulling off his clothes and what remained of her shredded clothes. “Lie back,” he did what he was told. She straddled his hips and taking him in her hand lowered down onto him. Slowly. “Stay still, let me.” 

 

Robb complied. Margaery was far slower and more tender than he was with her. She held her hands above her head, tied in her own hair as she got into a steady rhythm. The small sighs and gasps just turned him on further but he didn’t move. She was so beautiful, with her breasts perking up as her arms were above her head. She stopped moving up and down and just grinded against him, closing her eyes, Robb couldn’t stop looking at her. As she finished with a delicate shudder and gasp he had his breath taken by how stunning gorgeous she looked in that perfect moment.

 

Rolling onto his side he hugged her close as she shuffled up next to him kissing him quickly.

 

“You taste like wine.”

 

“I’ve had some.”

 

“No shit.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I was having selfish thoughts.”

 

“Such as?” Margaery asked shifting around to be face to face. “The throne?”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

“That isn’t selfish. That’s selfless.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Well, being King is tough. Especially when war is imminent.”

 

“I’m not next in line. Nowhere close.”

 

“Was Robert?”

 

“There is a Targaryen and Baratheon link there somewhere.”

 

“Sounds like a bullshit excuse to me.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Was Aegon?”

 

“I don’t have dragons.”

 

“You have the support of four maybe five of the Kingdoms. Nearly 100,000 men is a good substitute for dragons.”

 

“That’s true.”

 

“Robert Baratheon was the King and he wanted you married into his royal family… You’re closer to the line of succession than you think.”

 

That was very true. He hadn’t even considered that.

 

***

 

His hangover wasted the next day.

 

After that though the idea of the throne was becoming more appealing. It wasn’t the fact he wanted to be King to be King. For his own egoism and greed. No. It made sense. He was young. He was battle proven now. He was of Tully and Stark blood and his wife was Tyrell… It all made sense. 

 

If he sat the throne that was best way to unite the Kingdoms. 

 

Who else.

 

Shireen. With her bitter, twisted mother. Would men die for her? Unlikely. A unliked Queen who was sickly was a good avenue for the Lannisters to exploit and bounce back from. 

 

He was right for it.

 

He was. Without even consciously noticing what he was doing Robb was walking towards the Street of Steel.

 

“I know of it my lord.”

 

“This has to be kept secret for now.”

 

“I understand my lord. Hush, hush.”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“As am I,” Tobho Mott held a hand to his heart. “You will look like Torrhen Stark my lord.”

 

Not the most flattering reference but still he took the point. He was nervous. Really nervous. This was borderline treason. Maybe it was treason. Though he had killed a Kingsguard. That was pretty treasonous. This was a difficult time to be sure. In the blurred lines of the times who was to say what was truly honorable or not? 

 

However as much as he had kidded himself this was all he thought about. Every waking moment.

 

***

 

“I pronounce Robb Stark, first of his name, as King of the Andals and the First men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. And Margaery Tyrell as his Queen, our Queen. All hail the King. All hail the Queen.”

 

Robb took a deep breath. He couldn’t look his father in eye. He was running on false bravado right now. The applause made him a bit more relaxed. He had done it. He had himself crowned King. King of all the Kingdoms. All the realm. 

 

Finally he locked eyes with his father. The man’s jaw was working like Stannis’ had. Eddard Stark turned on his heel and stormed out. He was followed by most but not all of his contingent. 

 

“Nephew,” a man stepped forward. He must be his Uncle Edmure. He drew his sword and placed the tip to the floor and knelt. “I pledge my sword and my house to you.”

 

Oh phew. No, not phew, Robb chastised himself. King’s weren’t relieved. He stood up and walked down the steps and lifted Edmure Tully back to his feet.

 

“Thank you Uncle,” Robb embraced him tightly. Letting out some of his relief in the hug. 

 

“I support your claim too boy,” a hulking Northman told him. The Greatjon of House Umber. The third largest of the Northern houses. Robb embraced him too.

 

“Yes, I will support you claim,” a wispy looking man spoke as well. He had the flayed man of House Bolton emblazoned on his chest. Robb did not hug that man he just nodded.

 

“My father didn’t seem too happy,” Robb tried to joke. 

 

“He just needs some time nephew, don’t worry. Brynden will talk to him.”

 

Robb introduced those who stayed to his wife and his wife’s family. His family too. When everyone left but Margaery he asked her for a moment to sit the throne on his own. 

 

“Robb?” A voice spoke up from the dark of the empty throne room. A familiar voice. A small figure emerged from the darkness. He scowled into the dark about to be furious at whoever this was, who had first disrupted his first time sitting on the throne and second for calling him by his first name. 

 

“Who is that?”

 

“It’s me,” Arya came into the light. He had not been expecting her. 

 

“Arya? What the hell? Did father bring you?”

 

“No, I snuck into a carriage.”

 

He had to laugh. He hadn’t paid his family much thought in… Well a while but his little sister doing that brought a flood of memories of her antics at Winterfell came rushing back.

 

“Robb?” She began speaking as she walked up to the throne but stopped. She appraised him up and down. There was little love in her eyes. Without invitation or notice she climbed up onto his armor clad legs and sat on the arm of the throne resting her feet in his lap. “What happened to you?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You seem different. You sound different. You look different.”

 

“Is it the armor?” He tried to joke. Not liking this level of sincerity from his youngest sister.

 

“No.”

 

“Well I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve been away a while.”

 

“Not that long. Not long enough to forget.”

 

“What have I forgotten?”

 

“Erm… You know you just usurped the throne illegally like twenty minutes ago.”

 

“Father put Robert on the throne. They called him usurper.”

 

“Is that what you tell yourself? To justify it?”

 

“Justify it? The justification is a good reason Arya. Shireen Baratheon couldn’t hold the throne.”

 

“She ought to have her chance.”

 

“Well she won’t now.”

 

“Because you stole the throne?”

 

“I didn’t!” Robb stopped. He couldn’t shout at his sister. “It isn’t stealing Arya. I have the most support of anyone in the Kingdoms.”

 

“The Tyrells fought against father.”

 

“No they didn’t, they fought against Stannis.”

 

“Another justification.”

 

“We can only make allies with those we have had problems with,” Robb told her. He had heard someone say something like that in the Capitol before.

 

“That doesn’t sound like you. That sounds like a slimey politicians answer.”

 

“I don’t have to prove myself to you Arya.”

 

“Don’t have to I guess,” she agreed hopping down and going to leave. “You would have cared to before.”

 

“You came all the way here to tell me off?” He asked in disbelief. 

 

“No, I came to see to my brother. I don’t know where he is.”

 

“Oh don’t be so bloody dramatic!”

 

“You just crowned yourself King…” 

 

Robb had nothing to say to that, he just watched his sister go already working his nails into the pommel of the swords which made the end up of the armrest. He needed to talk to his father.

 

Still he noticed he hadn't got up. Was definitely still sitting in the throne and not going to see his father. 

 

Maybe his Uncle would convince his father.

 

That was a great start to his own coronation; an act of cowardice. 

 

***

 

“He doesn’t want to see you my lord,” Jory Cassel eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t like that.

 

“It’s your grace now Jory,” Cayn, one of Robb’s surviving household guard who accompanied him spoke.Cayn was a good man, already he was considering him his new right hand. Cayn had pledged his loyalty fully to his coronation and was reliable and trustworthy. Maybe a contender for the new Kingsguard… He did kill a lot of Lannisters on that fateful night. 

 

Was Robb was glad he didn’t have to make the correction.

 

“I want to see him,” Robb said flatly. He didn’t give Jory a chance. The nerves and anxiety he had held felt towards his family's’ reaction was getting replaced with anger. “Tell him I’m here.”

 

“Yes… Yes, your grace,” Jory pushed those words through his gritted teeth. 

 

***

 

“He should have seen you there and then, Lords can’t say no to a King,” Margaery told him.

 

“I agree, I should have but he made a counter offer which was reasonable.” 

 

“Father told me Lord Tarly is moving men into a camp closer to the city.”

 

“That’s good,” Robb nodded along. He was glad that Margaery would be present for the meeting with his father now. He wouldn’t crumple with her there. She would help him stay strong. It also wasn’t that good of a thing that he needed men from the Reach closer to the city so not to give his father the military leverage to dictate terms to him. This wasn’t quite how he expected this to work out. 

 

They should have already been marching on the Rock. 

 

“At least your men are supporting you.”

 

“Yeah, all ten of them.”

 

“You have ten men, my family has nearly 50,000… You’re lucky you’re handsome,” she winked at him. When he just shook his head she made her way over to him to kiss him. “Your father will come round.” 

 

“Erm-hem.”

 

“Father,” Robb almost pushed Margaery off him. Like he was caught doing something wrong. He barely resisted the urge to bow and scrape like an inferior to his father. 

 

Eddard Stark had just entered his solar without asking permission. He stood stiffly and defensively. 

 

“Robb, can we talk then?”

 

“Certainly,” Robb went to sit behind his desk, moving a chair for Margaery to sit next to him with a chair facing over the table. He knew his father meant can they talk alone but if he wanted that then he shouldn’t have sent him away in the first place. His father eyed them both. He was clenching his jaw the way Stannis would have.

 

“I’ve been thinking about this… This mess you’ve created and…”

 

“He didn’t create it!” Margaery interrupted. She was unphased. “He fought bravely for King Robert before he was murdered. Then he fought just as hard for Stannis before he succumbed to his wounds.” 

 

“You fought for two rightful Kings so now that excuses treason?”

 

“It isn’t treason!”

 

“I’m trying to speak to my son young lady.”

 

“I’m your good-daughter.”

 

“Yes, another wonderful surprise waiting for me in the capitol.”

 

“My father supports Robb’s claim.”

 

“As do the Tullys, the Boltons and Umbers,” Robb spoke up feeling it wasn’t that kingly to allow his wife to speak for him.

 

“Yes as will I have to now.”

 

Oh phew. Not phew! Stop that he told himself. Be confident. 

 

“You will?”

 

“Yes. I have to now you’ve crowned yourself King like an idiot. Like a reckless fool who indulges their wants over what is proper and honorable,” Eddard fixed him with a stare which he had to try really hard to maintain and not falter under. “However, however yes, you are my son and I will have to support you.”

 

“Good.”

 

“You shouldn’t talk to him like that, he’s your King,” Margaery cut in again. 

 

“I don’t remember bending my knee girl.”

 

“She’s your Queen,” Robb chastised his father. 

 

“Again, I don’t remember bending my knee.”

 

“You don’t need to, just pledge your support and help fight the Lannisters.”

 

Eddard Stark didn’t reply. He appraised them both with a cold look. Robb had heard many people saying his father had ice for eyes, cold and dead and grey. He had never known what they meant up until now. His father got up and left without another word.

 

“That could have gone better,” Robb slouched down in his seat. “Could have gone worse though.”

 

“He will come round. When he sees what a great King you’ll make,” Margaery took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. 

 

“Which we’ll make.”

 

They shared a quick kiss which Margaery broke, she was grinning mischievously. 

 

“I have something to show you,” she yanked at his arm and pulled him to his feet. “Come on.”

 

***

 

They walked all the way down to the steps leading up to the Red Keep. There was a small crowd gathered. Margaery was dragging him along by the hand to stand at the head of the crowd. The Tyrells were there. Minus Loras who had yet to leave Renly’s now rotting body. 

 

He was shushed by his wife who just pointed up to the jutting towers of the castle. They waited in silence for a couple moments in which he was shushed twice more.

 

Finally with a blast from a trumpet and a crack several long banners unfurled over the Red Keep. 

 

It took Robb’s breath away. 

 

Long grey banners, with the Stark Direwolf roaring front and centre, rolled down the side of the Red Keep. Underneath the Direwolf was a golden Rose. Robb had always thought the fact Cersei Lannister had the Lion put on Robert’s sigil was obtuse but he didn’t mind this. It made sense. The Direwolf was different from the one he had seen all his life. It was crowned with bronze and iron. 

 

“Wow…”

 

“Amazing huh?” Margaery leaned into his ear whispering low. “Your grace?”

 

“Perfect, just like you,” Robb leaned into her to kiss her. Having to strain to tear his eyes away from his royal banner. 

 

“Three cheers for the King and the Queen,” Cayn shouted drawing his sword and holding it to the sky. The crowd took up the cheers. 

 

***

 

“I don’t think my father is going to see eye to eye with me again,” Robb told Margaery. She had arranged for their belongings to be moved to the Royal Quarters. They both had new clothes made. The first of many more clothes to come. 

 

They were going to have a small feast, small and understated, where they would try to gain some semblance of unity and Robb and Margaery’s wedding and coronation would be celebrated together. It was just a way to try to build some bridges between new allies before they all marched off West together. 

 

The mirror they both were looking in still had the Antlers of the Baratheon, he would have that replaced with a wolf. 

 

He was dressed like a king. He was wearing a long sleeved tunic, all grey with his crowned Direwolf over the chest and black trousers. Obviously wearing his crown. Margaery was in green and silver wearing her crown too. They looked like they should look. Like a King and a Queen ought to look. Margaery’s arm was draped those his and was beaming with joy. Not like Robert, fat and drunk, with Cersei, sour and frowning, never touching each other. 

 

How could the realm be unified if the head of the realm were so disconnected?

 

It was why he and not Shireen ought to be King.

 

Robb knew he no longer needed to justify himself. Well to himself at least. He was firm on his decision. There were even feelings of pride and self-satisfaction he wouldn’t acknowledge. Margaery Tyrell. No Margaery Stark. Queen Margaery Stark. She had changed his world. She had transformed this miserable place into a place where his life began again. Began properly. 

 

He was no longer waiting in line to the be the Lord of Winterfell. He was now Lord of all the Kingdoms. Robb became nodding in grim determination to himself. This was right. It never felt more right. He touched his crown, making sure it was properly placed. 

 

“You look like a King.”

 

She broke him from his introspective stare. 

 

“Thank you… You look like a Queen.”

 

“I know.”

 

Margaery winked and pulled back from Robb denying him the kiss. They did have a minor feast to attend. Robb had to growl to himself, suppressing his desire for his wife as he followed her lead.

 

***

 

“For the new King and for the new Queen, my daughter,” Mace Tyrell was drunk as drunk could be, he was sitting to their right, standing, shouting and throwing wine everywhere with each wild gesticulation. He dragged Robb to his feet and hugged him tightly. “A toast!” Mace remembered where he was and what he was doing. The applause was of varying degrees of enthusiasm.

 

Robb and Margaery were front and centre. Mace to their left, Eddard Stark to their right. Robb’s father hadn’t spoken to him. When he arrived for this feast, or meal, feast was too grandiose a term, he was muttering angrily with Edmure Tully. A man who had pledged his support. 

 

“Everyone looks miserable,” Robb whispered into his wife’s ear using the chance to glance at his father who in turn was muttering angrily with the two Tully's. 

 

“Don’t worry, I have plan which will make everyone… Delighted,” she whispered back. He caught her eye and she was grinning mischievously.

 

“I don’t think anyone will be delighted. It is a good start to my reign that my own father is supporting me reluctantly.”

 

“Well you can’t have everything.”

 

“Wise words, the support of my father would be a big chunk of everything..”

 

“Still.”

 

“You can’t just say… Oh whatever.”

 

“Relax,” Margaery laughed at him and leaned up to kiss his cheek before standing and leaving briefly. 

 

“Starting your ‘plan,’ are you?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

People rushed off and whispered orders behind his back. After the surprise of the crowned Stark banner he was excited. The dinner itself was awkward and forced. People who clearly weren’t happy being there were mingled with people who they weren’t too happy to be sitting with. 

 

His father had only looked at him when he arrived. Didn’t smile or nod or do anything. Other people bowed or at least nodded. They weren’t too sure how to address him yet. That would come in time.

 

Margaery stood up and cleared her throat. Someone obviously saw or heard who had been told to call for silence for her as it was and silence fell. 

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen and honored guests, as a sign of the new King, and a new Royal family and line I have a spectacle for you.” 

 

Margaery gestured forward. The tables were set up outside in a horseshoe and in the side which was free. Several people were rushing about and organizing something.

 

“Here are the banners of the Lannisters,” Margaery continued. She really had taken the royal confidence in step. Picking it up naturally. “You will have all seen the new banners of our new united Kingdom. Well in with then new…” With a flourish towards the Red and Gold banners of Robert Baratheon and the Lannister’s red a green fire set up.

 

Wildfire was a spectacle indeed. 

 

Robb had never seen it. Clearly from the gasps most hadn’t. He watched his jaw agape as a pure green inferno licked upwards towards the sky. Furious yet silent. 

 

“Out with the old.”

 

 

-Myr-

 

She hated herself a lot. She actually wanted to see Margaery Tyrell again. She wouldn’t called her Stark even after being a prisoner for… Well some time now. What if it was a year?!

 

It wasn’t. Don’t be stupid she told herself.

 

She knew her Uncle Tyrion would have figured out a plan of extreme cunning to escape.

 

He other Uncle wouldn’t have been captured in the first place.

 

Her mother would have used her sexuality.

 

What did she have? Maybe her sexuality though it wasn’t much. A little part of her still didn’t believe what Margaery had said to her. So when she visited her again Myrcella fortified herself. Ready to ask and not just react and cry.

 

“It’s a wonderful afternoon isn’t it? Erm… How do I address you? Myrcella Hill? Myrcella Waters?”

 

“Myrcella is fine.”

 

Margaery had a small jug under her arm. She didn’t speak, walking around with a confidence Myrcella always had admired in others. A moment later Margaery was sitting on her bed with two cups of wine patting the space next to her as if they were best friends about to natter. The arrogance was stunning but she complied.

 

“We’re having a little feast tomorrow night.”

 

“Are you?” Myrcella took the wine and eyed it, waiting for Margaery to drink first. 

 

“I’m afraid you’re not invited.”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“A little chat… I could go?” 

 

“No… No don’t,” Myrcella hated herself in that moment. However she needed company badly. To stop the insanity creeping in. The smile that spread over the other woman’s face was one of such smug self-satisfaction it turned her stomach. 

 

“I brought you something, a gift.” Margaery reached into a pocket and pulled out a pendant. It was the crowned stag and lion of the Royal house of Baratheon. “The rest is going to be burned up. I found some wildfire. Everything must burn! However I thought maybe you would like this… This little trinket.”

 

“You’re awful.”

 

“Your grace.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You should address me as your grace. So that would be ‘you’re awful your grace.’” 

 

“Made yourself Queen have you?” Myrcella spat. The pendant brought up a lot of angry jealous feelings. 

 

“Nooooo,” she drawled. Margaery had taken her hair between her fingers and was playing with it. “My husband… You might know him? Robb Stark. He is King.”

 

“Can I see him?”

 

“No,” Margaery sighed, as if the question bored her. She was still playing with her hair, starting at her head and running her fingers all the way down to the bottom. “No, not yet. He’s busy at the moment. Like I said a feast.”

 

“I can’t believe I thought you were nice…”

 

“I am nice!” Margaery sounded really offended letting go of Myrcella’s hair. “I’m the only person who comes to visit you!”

 

“To taunt me!”

 

“No, no, no,” Margaery shushed her putting her hand under Myrcella’s chin forcing her to face her. “To be friends with you. You’ve had a tough deal, it isn’t your fault.”

 

“Please leave.”

 

“I’ll leave you the wine. Have a little party on your own,” Margaery smiled widely and genuinely before shocking Myrcella as she kissed her softly on the lips stood, waved and left.

 

That was weird.

 

Myrcella considered throwing the clay wine bottle against the wall… That would be self defeating. 

 

-A-

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to be at the feast young lady?”

 

“No Tom,” Arya sulked kicking at stones in the dirt. The Stark men had taken over the barracks in the lower levels of the Red Keep. The upper positions reserved for the Tyrells. “I don’t want to.”

 

“You snuck your way all the way over to King’s Landing and you’re missing the fun!” Fat Tom chided her.

 

“It isn’t fun… It is… Wrong. I don’t like seeing Robb like this.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“He’s changed… I think its that Tyrell girl.”

 

“She’s your good sister now young lady.”

 

“Like hell she is. She is awful. Robb wouldn’t want to be King! He wouldn’t take a crown from Shireen! It must be her.”

 

“Well he is King now and war is coming so we need to stand strong. Cayn!” Tom called one of Robb’s few guards over. He wasn’t dressed right either. In new fancier Southern armor. 

 

“Tom. Lady Arya, why aren’t you at the feast?!”

 

Arya eyed him suspiciously. She had seen him before, but he looked shifty and untrustworthy now. 

 

“Don’t wanna.”

 

“A shame. They burned all the Lannister banners with wildfire!”

 

Tom whistled in appreciation. 

 

“This is wrong! What is wrong with all of you! Robb shouldn’t be KING! Am I the only sane person in this fucking place?!” Arya exploded.

 

“That’s no language for a young lady!” Cayn chastised her. Making her dislike him more. 

 

“And that’s no way to speak to your liege lord’s daughter,” she snapped back.

 

“Lord Stark isn’t my liege lord anymore. I’m sworn to King Robb. Anyway Tom,” Cayn slapped him hard, aggressively on the shoulder. “I’m going to find some ladies to wile away my evening with. My lady,” he inclined his head and sauntered off with the cocky swagger of an utter prick. 

 

“Wanker,” she muttered.

 

“He is right that isn’t the sort of language you should be using my lady, but I agree. This place changes people. Not for the better.”

 

“Do you think it will change us?”

 

“No. We’re made of hardier stuff.”

 

“I thought Robb was too…”

 

Fat Tom could do nothing but show his open palms face up. 

 

***

 

She rapped her knuckles hard against the door of the royal solar which shouldn’t be where her brother was. Arya had snuck past the guards protecting the hallway. She wanted to talk to her brother one on one. Not on the throne. Not as King Robb. Just her elder brother.

 

There was no answer.

 

Hmmm.

 

“Robb?” 

 

She opened the door pulling the handle slowly.

 

Peeking inside she saw her brother, he was leaning on a wide desk, nude, eyes closed head back and she could see the back of Margaery Tyrell’s head at his waist, on her knees moving her head back and forward.

 

“Arya?!” Robb spluttered. Margaery stood, she was naked, she didn’t seem to care that Arya could see her nude. She was a beautiful woman that was true. Arya’s tore her eyes away. She didn’t want to see her brother without his clothes on but he had pulled his trousers back on. Arya was still a little in shock as Robb, in just his trousers grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out into the corridor.

 

“Let go of me,” she wriggled free becoming indignant.

 

“What the fuck? You can’t just barge into my solar uninvited!” He snarled. He was furious with her. “We’re not kids at Winterfell anymore.”

 

“I just wanted to talk to my brother, sorry that’s such a crime!”

 

“It is! You can’t break into the royal chambers. You can’t just do what you want Arya,” his anger rising. “You weren’t meant to come South and you did anyway and now you’re trespassing.”

 

“You can’t just make yourself a King but you did. I guess I shouldn’t follow my brother’s example huh?”

 

“It’s not the same.”

 

“No? It seems the same.”

 

“Go back to the Stark barracks Arya now.”

 

“That woman has corrupted you.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“I do. You’re lost Robb.”

 

“Your grace.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Arya stormed off, hot tears of anger rolling down her cheeks, she ran quickly so he didn’t see her cry. She hated this place. Hated what it did to her family. Her grandfather murdered and her brother twisted into a parody of himself. 

 

She was furious. She was going to do something. Something. Something her ‘King,’ wouldn’t like.


	19. -1-9-

-A-

 

“It is Margaery Tyrell. It is.”

 

“I’m not sure about that Arya,” Eddard Stark told her, he had been staring into the fire in his temporary solar since she came to speak to him.

 

“How? How can Robb have become like… The way he is. The banners. The armor. The, the, the, everything,” she spluttered.

 

“When I grew up with Robert he was a good man. An honorable man. Yes he liked his women. Yes he liked his drink but he was a good man. The second the crown was placed on his brow he changed as a man.”

 

“But he wanted to be King… The Baratheon’s were tied to the throne…” Arya had lost some of the wind in her sails. Her father’s calm, collected tone was hard to rail against. 

 

“I’ve thought on that a lot… It was more of an excuse. Who else was there? Viserys? Get him to promise to be good? No. We needed a new regime. The honorable thing was to find a link to the Throne and pretend it was a matter of succession.” 

 

“They burned your father and brother to death… Kidnapped your sister… They were mad. Shireen isn’t mad!”

 

“No, Arya, no she isn’t and she should be Queen.”

 

“Then?”

 

“She won’t be. Robb is now. I shouldn’t have been so harsh with him. What has come to pass has come to pass and we need to move forward. No matter how much I disapprove. He has acted without honor true. Yet it is truly dishonorable for me not to support my own son.”

 

“I think you should have been harsher with him… I went to speak with him again and he was… Well he was having… You know… With that Tyrell whore.”

 

“Arya! She is family now. Like it or not she…”

 

“Not,” she interrupted. 

 

“Fine not. However you can’t sneak around into people’s rooms. I shouldn’t have been harsher. I should have spoken to him. I left him in this place. This awful place. Pushing him away only lets the rot set deeper. The Tyrells are a very ambitious family and they had his ear. Clearly this Margaery Tyrell gave Robb comfort in a place he was alone and out of place.”

 

“I suppose…” Arya’s anger was all but gone. Her father was right. He was always right.

 

“The Lannisters were plotting against the crown and I married him off to one of them… Who knows what happened down here. Two Kings died in a week. The male line of the Baratheons wiped out in a week.”

 

Arya now felt selfish herself, her father’s mentor; Jon Arryn, had passed and his best friend too. All in one go and he now had to war once again.

 

“I left my son to the lions and I was worried they would eat him. Instead… The opposite happened. I saw selfishness and a lack of honor where I should have seen panic and a boy asked to be a man too soon. Not aware of the politicking of this terrible place.”

 

“So he’ll stay King?”

 

“He must… Yes. What else could happen? I insist he steps down? Tywin Lannister is a deadly and gruesome man and he will strike any weakness like a hammerblow. Your Uncle and even some of my own bannerman accepted Robb’s claim. We cannot infight.” 

 

“No, I suppose not.”

 

“Sleep Arya, rest of your anger and tomorrow morning we will both go speak to your brother.”

 

“Our King,” she tried one last jab of sarcasm.

 

Eddard Stark just grumbled.

 

***

 

“More disapproval father?” Robb was in his stupid armor and looked upon them both coldly from across the desk in his royal solar where Arya had found him being fellated. 

 

“No, no Robb, no more disapproval, I wished to apologize.”

 

The cold look over her brother’s face broken momentarily with surprise. He almost smiled. Almost.

 

“You do? And you Arya?”

 

She just inclined her head. Not wanting to say the words she didn’t mean. She wasn’t going to apologize to King Robb. Maybe to her big brother but not King Robb and he first needed to prove the boy she grew up idolizing was in there still.

 

“You’re accepting me as King?”

 

“I have already accepted you as King, not happily but I have. You need to tell me what happened to lead to this path.”

 

“Do King’s need to explain themselves?”

 

“No. They don’t need to, but I’m asking for you to.”

 

“If I can ask you a question?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“Why did you marry me to Lannister and leave your heir alone in this place?”

 

“I couldn’t refuse Robert.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because he was King.”

 

“And now so am I.”

 

“So you are... “

 

This wasn’t going the way her father had hoped clearly. Arya knew it wasn’t her place but she had to.

 

“What then Robb? What made you forget your honor?”

 

“My honor?! The last King who was put on the throne was a drunkard who lead the realm to debt and almost ruin. I would have fought for Stannis and I did. Almost died fighting for him. I killed a Kingsguard for him, I killed more men than I can count that night. Then Stannis died too.”

 

“I’m not here to fight with you Robb.”

 

“No?”

 

“No, you can’t take the crown off when you’ve put it on. I just need to know how we came to this path.”

 

Robb took his face in his hands and rubbed the tiredness from his eyes, sighing, the coldness retreating from his eyes. Arya saw the first brief flash of her brother underneath there for the first time since coming to this place. 

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry but Arya can you leave?”

 

“What?!” 

 

“Please, we’ll talk later.”

 

Well he did say please. Arya stood and left. 

 

It was a little disappointing she had been asked to leave. Frustrating as well. Why did her father let her come in the first place if she was just going to sent away on a whim?! She kicked a rock angrily as she got outside. 

 

“Ouch, who the fuck did that?” A commoner’s voice rang out. Arya was about to yell at whoever it was but stopped. The guy she hit with a rock was pretty good looking. Well. No Really good looking. A tall, strong boy a couple years older than her with dark black hair was carrying a large box under one arm and looking around angrily.

 

“I did,” Arya found her voice.

 

“Why the hell, you better apologize.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Who do you think you are girl?”

 

“Arya Stark.”

 

“Oh gods, sorry, I apologize I didn’t realize… You’re not dresse… Look I’m sorry princess,” he panicked.

 

“Princess…” That sounded alien. “I don’t think a King’s sister is a princess.”

 

“Yes, I think they are.”

 

“Hmmm, maybe. Who are you?”

 

“Gendry Waters princess, I’m here with a delivery for the King from Tobho Mott.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Blacksmith.”

 

“Right, he’s talking to my father right now why don…”

 

“You the blacksmith’s boy?” Cayn approached. Arya was really developing a dislike of that man. He had essentially said that he wasn’t a Stark man but Robb’s man and his arrogance was astounding. “Well boy?” He spoke to this Gendry as if he was moron.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Give that to me,” Cayn demanded and snatched away the goods without waiting for an answer. “Alright back to Flea Bottom with you,” he waved dismissively, “stop bothering your betters.”

 

“He isn’t bothering me,” Arya snapped at the man. He appraised her dispassionately. 

 

“So be it.”

 

“Arsehole,” Gendry muttered.

 

“He is.”

 

“Oh sorry my lady, I shouldn’t have used that language in front of you.”

 

“He is a fucking idiot,” Arya said. Trying to impress the man a little. He gawked for a second then laughed. 

 

“I should leave, highborn ladies shouldn’t talk to bastards like me.”

 

“Why? One of my brothers is bastard born and he is one of the family.”

 

“Really?” He looked like he didn’t believe her.

 

“Why would I lie you idiot? Anyway you’re going back to the Street of Steel right?”

 

“I certainly am my lady.”

 

“Arya. I’m not a lady. My sister is… I’m not. Anyway could you show you me around a bit?”

 

“Certainly if you wish my la… Arya.”

 

-T-

 

“Ridiculous! You’re staying here.”

 

“I should be leading not…”

 

“I don’t want to hear it!” Tywin Lannister interrupted Jaime. “You and your sister caused this mess. You will stay here with Daven Lannister and raise fresh levies to defend our borders while I fix this.”

 

“Fine… Fine!” Jaime stormed from the room in a mood slamming the door so hard it opened again.

 

“He really…”

 

“You be quiet too,” Tywin shut down Cersei. Despite the direness of the situation a rather large part of Tyrion enjoyed this. His father was a towering pillar fury. He didn’t shout, he didn’t yell but it was clear that he was furious. Joining their brother Cersei stormed out too. “Life can still surprise me after all these years…”

 

“How so?” Tyrion asked sipping from his wine, steeling himself for alone time with father. 

 

“You, the least of my children have turned out to be the least disappointing.”

 

“Why thank you father. I think,” Tyrion replied. It was the closest he would ever get to a compliment from the man. 

 

“You’re coming with me East.”

 

“I am?!” That he didn’t expect. Nor want. “I’m no warrior father.”

 

“I don’t expect you do any front line fighting. Just to represent me as one of my council. Now Jaime has disgraced himself.”

 

“I don’t think I can contribute much father.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

***

 

The one thing Tyrion did not expect to happen was for him to be in the situation he was in. Saddled and armored in customized, smaller armor waiting for his father to join him and Amory Loch and the Mountain and all the other generals at the head of 50,000 thousand men. He disliked both Cleganes but especially the elder, luckily the man paid him no heed. 

 

It was a grand sight indeed. 50,000 men, spear tips glinting in the sun and the banners of the Westerland fluttering softly in the wind. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how this panned out; his father had listened to his summation of the situation and declared that Tyrion wasn’t the fool he thought he was. 

 

Finally on a white horse with a heavily armored retinue the towering figure of Tywin Lannister rode forth to the head of the column.

 

In the blink of an eye thousands of men jolted into movement. East and to war. 

 

***

 

The first battle wasn’t a battle it was a skirmish. Descending onto the forces of the North and Riverlands who the scouts reported were coming to join their force by the capitol the Lannister army slaughtered them. Almost wiping them out completely. Gregor Clegane returned with the severed head of Lord Karstark. 15,000 men killed and less than a thousand of the Westerland men destroyed.

 

It seemed to be too good to be true. 

 

“They didn’t expect us to strike so quickly,” Tywin declared at dinner in the tent. 

 

“This will be easier than expected,” Amory Loch laughed banging his fist drunkenly on the table. 

 

“You think?” Tyrion asked, given confidence by his own drinking.

 

“You know little of combat.”

 

“True,” Tyrion mused, “however a small force lead by a few Lords isn’t the same as a prepared force lead by Eddard Stark and Randyll Tarly.”

 

“Nonsense.”

 

“It isn’t nonsense, dismissing one’s enemies is how you end up ruined,” Tywin spoke softly, yet everyone quieted down to listen. “If you take either of those men lightly Loch you’re more of an idiot than I thought, and I don’t hold you in high regard.” That silenced the man. “We have garnered a small victory, but this is not a celebration.”

 

“Sorry my lord.”

 

Tywin didn’t respond just looked at him coldly until he looked away. 

 

“Everyone leave us… Not you.”

 

The order was followed and Tyrion was left with Tywin and Kevan.

 

“Surrounded by fools,” Tywin spoke to neither of them yet both. 

 

“They’re good at violence,” Kevan said.

 

“True, and we need violence now.”

 

“And then?” Tyrion asked.

 

“Then? I’m not sure. If we kill all how oppose us their minor lords won’t raise steel again.”

 

“They’ll hate us.”

 

“They will, that I can not amend. Yet if we do not destroy those who usurped Cersei and her son then our house is no longer a house to be feared. The path is clear.”

 

“I suppose it is… However allegiances are what make the world go round,” Tyrion was feeling bolder. “The Vale hasn’t come to the aid of the Starks.”

 

“Your point?” Kevan asked him. “Lysa Arryn is crazed.”

 

“Yes, and in love with Petyr Baelish,” Tyrion continued. “If we asked him to marry her and get her brat to marry Myrcella when we reclaim her that will bring her back into the fold along with the Knights of the Vale. Her ties to Riverrun may cool their tempers too.”

 

“That is true. Very true, it wasn’t a mistake bringing you.”

 

-M-

 

Every single pot, save the one which was used to burn the old banners, of wildfire was poured out into the Blackwater. It was just settling on top of the water. Margaery thought she should have considered how was the best way to dispose of it first. Robb was off talking to his father. She did not like Eddard Stark. Wasn’t planning on telling him that but she didn’t. Margaery wanted the war to be over so that he could go back to the North and not be heard of again. 

 

Her grandmother insisted that she dispose of the wildfire. It was best to listen to her. 

 

Walking back to the Red Keep she saw Arya Stark, someone else she didn’t like, walking off with some commoner. Strange girl.

 

The second that crown touched her head she knew she was meant to wear it. Definitely meant to wear it. Eddard Stark might try to take that from her. Might try to shame Robb into being the honorable bore that he was. Honor was important. However it could be broken now and again. They needed the swords not the council. They needed generals and soldiers not advice and shame.

 

She thought about seeing Myrcella again but decided against it. She liked the girl now she was powerless. She knew Robb felt guilty about her. Really bad. If she was able to make the girl feel dependent on her then maybe something could come from that. If she was reduced to a pathetic figure who pathetically loved Margaery as the only person who was kind to her then she could be used. 

 

The daughter of Tywin Lannister’s golden twin was a golden hostage. Any sort of leverage to keep that crown on her brow and the Direwolf/Rose banner fluttering over the Red Keep she would use. 

 

Walking up to her royal solar she passed Eddard Stark of all people. She just blanked him completely, he slowed as if to talk to her but she breezed right by. 

 

“Your grace,” Cayn approached. He was a good man, loyal and humble, she liked him a lot. “His grace is busy but the delivery arrived.”

 

“From Tobho Mott?”

 

“Yes your grace.”

 

“Excellent, thank you Cayn.”

 

“You’re very welcome your grace.”

 

“Wait before you leave, my husband and I have spoken and we value your service a lot.”

 

“Thank you my Queen,” he bowed his head. 

 

“Make yourself available in the throne room tomorrow morning.”

 

“Yes your grace, certainly.” He bowed low barely hiding his ear to ear grin. He would make a good knight and he deserved it. Perhaps even a white cloak. It was her husband's job to give that to him but by suggesting she was part of the decision Margaery was gaining his loyalty too. 

 

Margaery found her husband sitting behind the desk in their solar his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. 

 

“Robb?”

 

“Oh hello,” he sounded down. 

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Long talk with my father.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You have to talk to me Robb, we’re in this together,” Margery went to stand behind him and wrapped her arms over his chest resting her chin on his shoulder.

 

“He’s still supporting my claim… However he made her feel rather guilty about it… I was caught up in events and I acted out of pride and ego.”

 

“No you didn’t.”

 

“I did.”

 

“No,” Margaery raised her hand to grasp her husband's chin and turn his face upwards to face her, holding him there. “You did what was right. Honor be damned. Placing Shireen on the throne would lead to unrest. Is that honor? Well?” She would keep repeating these things until they settled in. Whatever needed to be said she would say.

 

“It’s her right.”

 

“But is it honorable? You do something which hurts your honor, if you think so, I don’t, but if you do, but how many lives of the regular people will you save with strong leadership? How many?!”

 

“A lot.”

 

“A lot!” She let go of him and walked away to the front of the desk and started taking the ties out from the back of her dress. Men had swords and spears as their weapons, she had hers to get what she wanted. “How many suffered due to a drunken leecher being on the throne?” She asked letting her outer clothes fall to the floor. Margaery loved how Robb was still captivated by her body. 

 

“A lot,” he repeated watching her carefully as she took off her small clothes. Turning around to remove her underwear, bending low in front of him before throwing them into his face. 

 

“Your father is a great man but his honor was what was worst for the Kingdoms. You are the best thing that could happen to this Kingdoms. Strong, smart, caring… Handsome,” she winked before crawling onto the bed.

 

Robb didn’t reply he was just nodding, staring at her, but nodding and standing and pulling off his own top and untying his trousers.

 

“You’re right. You’re always right.”

 

They didn’t need to speak anymore. She had undone the damage Eddard Stark’s meddling had done for now. She pulled her husband’s hips to next to the side of their giant royal bed stopping him from climbing up. He looked confused for moment as Margaery licked her finger and wetted herself and crawling up onto her hands and knees, backing into him.

 

Still standing he grabbed her hips, forcefully. The lack of confidence he had when she entered their chamber gone. She moaned naturally as he entered but made herself even louder; to boost his tenacity and appeal to his male pride.

 

Slowly he pushed into, easing himself in, she felt her body open up for him as she became slicker and slippery, tight around him as Robb built up momentum. Soon she was screaming, again making noise naturally but over inflating it. 

 

“Fuck Robb,” she muttered, saying his name over and over. Pushing back into him. Robb didn’t allow that to happen, taking away her control he grabbed her hips and slammed her back into him before thrusting forward and pulling her back hard. 

 

The want to boost Robb’s ego backup fell into actual desire and she let her hands and elbows slip. Just burying her face into the sheets as her husband pounded rhythmically inside her. 

 

-A-

 

“Thanks for walking me around,” she thanked Gendry. He had shown her the parts of the city her father or her father’s guard would not have allowed her to see. He was funny and kind too when he became slightly more comfortable around her. 

 

“Arya!” 

 

“Father? This Gendry Waters.”

 

“Oh, good day to you,” Eddard Stark stopped all of a sudden to stare at the blacksmith’s apprentice. He was unsettled under the gaze of the Northern Warden.

 

“My lord.”

 

“Look at me boy.”

 

It was hard for the bastard boy to maintain her father’s gaze, glancing down over and over. 

 

“Who are your parents?”

 

“Sorry my lord?”

 

“You’re in no trouble, I just wonder.”

 

“My mother was a… A tavern maid my lord, and I didn’t know my father.”

 

“Where is your mother?”

 

“Dead my lord. She died when I was little.”

 

“What is it you do?”

 

“I’m a blacksmith’s apprentice. Tobho Mott, he’s..”

 

“I know the name. A very prominent blacksmith indeed. How is it you came into his service?” 

 

“A man, he was cloaked and hooded brought me to him.”

 

“How kind. Kind indeed. Thank you.”

 

“See you around Gendry.”

 

“Thank you my lady.”

 

He scurried off quickly.

 

“Come Arya, let’s get something to eat. Our reinforcements should be here soon and I’ll be leaving.”

 

“Me here?”

 

“No. You’re getting on a ship. I’ll send a raven ahead to Lord Manderly.”

 

That wasn’t what she wanted. Especially after finally meeting someone she rather liked for a change in King’s Landing. Walking into the Stark barracks her good mood was spoiled by the sight of Cayn. He barely acknowledged her father. Clearly the man was so disloyal he had completely jettisoned any allegiance to her father, choosing her brother instead. 

 

“Why did you want to know about Gendry’s family?”

 

“No reason.”

 

“You always told me not to lie.”

 

Her father barked a warm laugh. 

 

“I think he maybe one of Robert’s bastards.”

 

“Really?!”

 

“Don’t get too excited he has a lot.” 

 

“Does that mean he could become a Baratheon?”

 

“Only if legitimized by a King and I don’t think your brother will be doing that anytime,” he crushed her thought immediately. “Let’s not worry about it anymore, I would like to spend some time with you before we march.”

 

“I’d like that too father.”

 

He smiled and tousled her hair and she laughed and moved away to fix her messed up hair.

 

***

 

There had been bad news, no one told her anything. Maybe they shouldn’t but still, she really wanted to know what was happening! Arya decided instead to go for a walk. Well not a general walk she wanted to see a certain blacksmith’s apprentice. She had never really felt that twinge in her stomach before. 

 

Not that she was going to acknowledge it.

 

There were soldiers everywhere in the Red Keep. Knights and lower lords preparing for a war.

 

Robb was in the courtyard and she wanted to avoid him right now but didn’t seem to share her views. Cornering her.

 

“Arya, can we talk quickly?”

 

“Do you command it your grace?”

 

“Look… Yeah I deserve that… I do. I’m sorry alright. It’s been tough here.”

 

Arya sighed. It was hard to be mad at him. He was her brother after all. So she followed him over to the side of the yard away from others. 

 

“I’m riding off to war imminently and I can’t leave things badly in case the worst happens.”

 

That made her stomach twist painfully.

 

“I don’t like this Robb.”

 

“I guessed that,” he laughed. “You may have hinted at that once or twice in the past.”

 

“Glad you picked up on my subtleties,” she grinned back, it was nice to share a moment with her brother no matter how brief. “I think it’s best that I don’t ask you why you did something so stupid and selfish anymore and just accept it best I can. Even though you’re a dishonorable idiot.”

 

“That’s a nice way of putting it. I could get you a diadem? You know, now you’re princess Arya,” his playful smile broadened.

 

Arya shoved him really hard and he almost fell, his smile turning into a full blown laugh as he hugged her. 

 

“We’ll be alright little sister.”

 

“I hope so. I’m going to enjoy the city.”

 

“Want some money?”

 

“Have some.”

 

“Have fun.”

 

She waved and left for the city in a much better mood.

 

***

 

“Good morning to you young lady,” a bald man in foreign looking robes greeted her. “How can I help you,” as she entered the grandiose ebony coated blacksmith’s store.

 

“I’m Arya Stark a…”

 

“Oh welcome princess, welcome,” he bowed and scraped. She did not like the term lady, so princess was even worse. 

 

“I would like to see Gendry.”

 

“Oh… Right of course.”

 

Moments later they were walking down the Street of Steel. 

 

“Why is you wanted to see me princess?”

 

“Arya.”

 

“Right, why is you wanted to see me princess Arya.”

 

“Just Arya. I don’t know. You seemed normal and nice. I haven’t met anyone in this awful place who isn’t totally awful.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Apart from you obviously dummy.”

 

“Aren’t ladies and princess meant to be polite?”

 

“How many have you met?”

 

“Fair point. The city isn’t too bad by the way.”

 

“Winterfell is better.”

 

“I haven’t been.”

 

“It’s amazing.”

 

Arya described the snow on the turrets and the peaceful cool wind and Gendry listened politely and asked about the Kingdoms she’d passed and seen. She had never had a problem talking to those who weren’t highborn. Often she spoke about swords with Mikken the armorer of Winterfell or with the stable boys. She liked Fat Tom more than any of the knights in her father’s service. 

 

“The people looked scared,” she noted to Gendry.

 

“They are. We all are. There was a battle in the Red Keep! We’ve had three Kings in a couple of weeks.”

 

“My brother will be alright,” she said. He would. He was a good man, he shouldn’t be King but she wouldn’t let someone outside the family know that. 

 

“I hope so. Can I ask you a que… yes?” Gendry stopped as a man with a cloaked hood covering his face approached. 

 

“Are you Gendry Waters?” A very familiar voice asked. 

 

“Yes I…” 

 

He didn’t finish his sentence as a knife flashed and stuck in his belly. He grunted and started to fall as the blade was removed and blood fell and another stab went through his shoulder, Arya jumped in front of the third.

 

“STOP! Do you know who I am?!” She screamed. The man went to run as she grabbed at his hood catching only a glimpse of his face… Cayn?!

 

-R-

 

The head of Rickard Karstark sat on the table in front of all of them. Gormless, eyes still open and the tip of his spine protruding.

 

“We must march now,” Randyll Tarly, who entered the city that morning to send his fat son on a ship North to the wall, spoke first. “We’ve dallied too long.”

 

“I agree,” Robb said. “How many men do we have total with our loses?”

 

“Around a thousand of the survivors have arrived at our camps,” Edmure Tully informed them.

 

“So we have nearly 17,000 men,” Eddard Stark told them. 

 

“I’ve mustered 25,000,” Tarly told them. “So 42,000 men. What about the Gold Cloaks?”

 

“They fought for the Lannisters that night in the keep,” Robb said. “I think we killed more of them than Red Cloaks.”

 

“So they can’t be trusted. My scouts have been pressing forward but we don’t have a number for the Lannister force.”

 

“They’ll approach down the Trident, it’s the only way an army can approach the city and stay watered and feed,” Eddard Stark told them.

 

“We leave now,” Robb said. 

 

***

 

He said a quick goodbye to Margaery. He couldn’t face dragging it out. He needed to face the battle, not make himself emotional and sad. Fully armored at the head of his army with his newest and only addition to his Kingsguard; Cayn, they marched down the trident waiting for the scouts to return. 

 

The Trident…

 

The fate of the realm would be decided there once more it would seem. The Starks had won there before and he wasn’t going to lose his crown. He wasn’t going to have his direwolf decorations shattered like so many rubies lost and forgotten under the cold, fast, deep water. 

 

The Lion of Lannister would fall and then the Rock would be torn down and the Stark royal dynasty would be cemented to last longer than any other that came before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would be funny if I just killed everyone and put Joffrey on the throne wouldn't it?


	20. -2-0-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed if characters are OOC but nicer then there isn't a problem. Only if you twist characters up and make them worse than their original.

-R-

They were outnumbered but not by much. Battles had been won with worse odds. Robb was leading the heavy cavalry on the right flank with the greatjon. Eddard Stark and Randyll Tarly held the heavy infantry in the centre and Roose Bolton was holding the left. Edmure Tully held the reverses and the Brynden Tully was given control of the archers. 

If the fight in the Red Keep was confusing then this would be a nightmare. 

They were on the Southern bank of the Trident, Robb and his cavalry by the water which was on slightly raised ground and had a good perspective. The red of the larger Lannister force spread out in front of them like the earth had bled them upwards. The clink of metal and coughing and horses braying weirdly seemed like silence. All the noise had been sucked out of the field. 

“Alright, alright,” Robb muttered to himself, “alright,” he said louder drawing his sword. “Advance!” 

Just over two thousand heavy horse moved behind him. The silence still over them. The cavalry on the opposing side started moving forward to meet them. 

The skirmishers had been taking shots at each on the torn up muddy field since dawn now it was time to move. The Lannisters had a slight hill and they clearly weren’t going to give up that advantage. Robb needed to break their heavy horse to stop their infantry from being overwhelmed. 

Trotting forward for several hundred yards, then speeding up, finally galloping into their foe. The biggest man Robb had ever seen was leading his opposing, mounted force. 

His breath disappeared for a moment, that sucked in silence where sound itself disappeared and the abyss of nothing closed in as the horses closed in then the vibrations returned in a rush which made Robb’s ears ring and teeth chatter. The beating hooves and war cries came flooding in like water over a broken dam as the new King and his men collided with the Lannisters. 

Robb pivoted in his saddle to dodge a lance leaving that rider to side slash at another knight cutting his throat deep. His training which had dominated so much of his life since he was able to hold a stick took over. Swiping left and right cutting down man after man. Just pushing forward until a lance took his horse in the chest and he went flying over head over heels his crowned helmet flying off and his sword was lost. 

Finding his feet Robb tried to find his bearings. He had no idea what was happening. Just a mess of bodies and horses. Some writhing and dying in the mud as far as he could see.

A mace clanged uselessly off his thick plate armor, Robb caught it under his arm and pushed the tip of the dagger he drew threw the trapped man’s eye. As he was dropping Robb shoved his corpse into the next attacker knocking him back as Robb lunged on top of him and drove his dagger into his neck and slit it. Leaving that dagger in the dead man.

In a brief pause he found his sword and crowned helmet. It was a brief pause as the next attacker drove him to the floor. The length of his sword now a disadvantage where the discarded knife would have been perfect. Robb used his helmet as a bludgeon striking his enemy over and over with it until the skull cracked and he fell heavy on him. As Robb pushed him over and got to his feet he ducked at incoming sword, parrying it once, then twice then gutting the man before he could attempt a third. 

His men were definitely winning. Definitely. More Stark banners were flying on mounts. More red was the on the ground in the dirt. Not just the blood but the colors. 

Making his way carefully back into the melee that the cavalry had turned into Robb was able to cut down, from behind, Lannister knights and men at arms at will. It was going well enough that some of his enemies were starting to flee. Those still mounted were pulled from their horses by those whose mounts had fallen and massacred them. 

One man still standing was Gregor Clegane. His destrier dead but he was unharmed. Coated in blood. None of it his own by the looks of it. Surrounded by other knights fighting ferociously. Robb made his way over to them killing as he went. Whether men were running or not. Running was not surrendering. 

“Stop! STOP!” He bellowed to his men who were trying to fight the mountain and his men. They slowed in their circle around what was left of the heavy Lannister horse. “Spears. Find spears. Kill them.” His order was listened to and the advance stopped over the muddy ground full of writhing and screaming men and horses squealing and twitching. 

The shafts of many spears shot throw the air cutting down what was left of the dozen or so Lannisters. There others around but those mounted were cutting them down. The Mountain still was standing after tens of spears were thrown. He saw Robb. Saw his crowned helmet which was back on his head. The man roared like a beast and charged towards him his claymore raised the spears in his hulking frame seemingly doing no damage.

The greatjon appeared at Robb’s side to catch the blow in a parry with his own claymore and several more spears took the Mountain down to one knee. Five shafts in his body. As he rose back to his feet Lord Umber decapitated him. 

The Stark men cheered with victory. 

“Remount. Find horses,” Robb ordered loudly as someone brought him a fresh horse. “We ride them down!” He slowed to finally yell back, “and cut that fucker’s off and mount it on a spike. A fucking big spike!”

Cheers of victory echoed proudly in his ears as he rode on. 

 

-M-

“You look nervous child.”

“I am grandmother. Our forces aren’t fully assembled yet and they’re warring!” Margaery told her grandmother. They were back in at the gazebo she had neglected since becoming queen. 

“Don’t worry. Tywin Lannister might be a great general but he is facing several great generals.”

“Too many cooks…”

“They aren’t making broth.”

“True…”

“Anyway, what’s this I hear about Robb’s new knifeman, Trayn is it?”

“Cayn you mean?”

“Probably. Well he stabbed a boy to death in the streets.”

“Did he now?” Margaery tried to sound innocent. 

“Yes. I have had many spies flock to our house after Varys disappeared and Littlefinger left for the Vale. You can tell me. I have no problem with murder darling.”

“Right… That’s fine, Cayn came and told me he overheard Eddard Stark saying that master blacksmith’s apprentice was one of Robert’s bastards,” Margaery explained herself.

“I see. I’m sure Robert has many more of those running around the city,” Olenna said lightly. 

“Then they may not be long for this world.”

“I wouldn’t worry so much about bastards and more for the ship flying Stannis’ colors coming to the capitol. Besides I think genocide would be the term needed to describe the killing of all the bastards that man left.”

“Ah yes,” Margaery wanted to kicked herself. “I forgot about that little monster.” 

“Well what do you propose?”

“We could sink the ship?” Margaery suggested in a high voice not sure whether her grandmother would think that too brutal. 

“Ships sink all the time.”

Well that was that then, the flood of relief was cooling. 

“It makes sense,” Margaery continued. She was justifying another murder out loud.

“It does. If you and Stark are King and Queen then its best for everyone, especially the commoners, if the previous regime is just gone and forgotten about. No need to give them the chance to raise further armies.”

“Good. Good. We’re of one mind,” she smiled at her grandmother but the old woman didn’t return the smile, she looked very sombre.

“We have to be after all, obligated even. Go you don’t need to stay here with an old woman all day, I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh and take that crown off dear, you don’t have to wear it all the bloody time.”

Margaery just tutted and touched her rose diadem. She wasn’t going to take it off. She thought it looked good… Plus the feeling of power it gave her was seductive. She was in charge. With Robb away the city was hers. The Baratheon bastards would soon be meeting their end and a certain gray scale covered freak would be at the bottom of the Blackwater where she should have been thrown years ago.

That was cruel. Was she becoming cruel? No that’s stupid. She was a good person and a good person sometimes did bad for the greater good. A blemish on her reputation would solidify the Stark-Tyrell dynasty. Yes she was a good person. 

***

“You!”

“Oh hello dear sister,” Margaery smiled at an angry looking Arya Stark who was marching up to her. Cayn told her that it was Arya who was talking to this Baratheon bastard before she asked him to deal with that problem. She disliked the rough, rude girl. Apparently Robb’s other sister was a girl after her own heart. Not like this scruffy and nosey girl who wanted to be a boy. 

“I’m not your sister.”

“It wounds me. Perhaps we can work on that… It’s your grace by the way,” Margaery maintained her smiled but there was a barb behind her words.

“Nevermind that. I know you had Gendry murdered!”

“Who?”

“Gendry! He was the blacksmith’s apprentice! You had him murdered!”

“Why would I do such a thing?!” Margaery lied flawlessly. “Commoners kill each over often. Gambling, debts, bar fights. All manner of things. They kill each other for all sorts of reasons.”

“You probably shouldn’t talk about that! My family is off fighting your battle,” she spat. Her fists were clenched at her side and shaking. 

“My battle?” 

“Robb didn’t want the crown, you did something to him. You stole my brother from me and now you’ve stolen someone I liked in this shit hole too.”

“I haven’t stolen him. I am his,” she said neutrally, pointing on her regal voice. Which she may have been practicing in front of the grand mirror in her room. 

“And he is yours,” she spat and stormed off even more furious than when she arrived.

Terrible little girl. Margaery couldn’t wait until all but one Stark went back up North and left the Kingdoms to her and her husband.

 

-R-

The centre of the Stark, Tyrell, Tully coalition was buckling under the onslaught of the Lannister heavy infantry. From up on the hill where he and his men had defeated the cavalry he couldn’t see more than colors of banners and the lines of men pressing into each other. The Red was pressing the centre back. It wasn’t close to breaking but the line was giving a lot of ground.

Roose Bolton’s spearwall on the left was holding firm. Giving, nor taking an inch.

Robb smiled to himself as the Lannister reserves began the slow march through the bog to destroy the Stark centre. Tywin Lannister was a great general but his own ferociousness and ruthlessness wasn’t going to win him this day.

“Run them down, run them down!” Robb called, spurring his horse forward chasing down those fleeing from the right flank. 

Back in motion the new King and his heavy horse followed those they had just defeated chasing them off the field. Into the woods and down the banks of the Trident. Cutting down the survivors.

Apparently leaving for glory or leaving out of bloodlust. Leaving nonetheless. 

***

The screams meant nothing anymore. Pushing the tip of his sword into the back of a fleeing man meant nothing at all. Margaery’s words that his honor came second to the safety of the realm rung true. His army intact and the Lannister one ruined would be best for the realm.

He cut down a man who stopped running and put his hands up crying for quarter. 

“Round around, swing around,” Robb called and his men wheeled around through the now wodded terrain following him back to the battlefield. If anyone had been watching from a vantage point. Say the one a general may take. It would look like the inexperienced King had left his infantry to seek personal glory on horseback. Looks could be deceiving. 

With over half of his heavy horse intact Robb swung round to the centre of the battlefield reemerging for all to see. It would be too late to react. The last of the Lannister reserves were placed on high ground. Tywin Lannister would be there. Robb was tempted to ride him down. They could. Instead they galloped down the centre of the field. 

The Stark centre was really buckling but still holding on just about, they were moments away from breaking. The spearwall of the left was standing pretty firm. 

The crowned direwolf banner was fluttering behind Robb as they closed in on the rear of the Lannister centre. Where the heavy infantry had been poured into the exploit the weakness, it was a smart move, especially on a breaking line. A few lines deep had turned to face them but it was way too late.

The crash was deafening.

Several thousand cavalry impacted at full gallop, screaming warcries built up from the blood lust which had been indulged but not yet sated. The Lannister rear crumpled. Man after man was cut down with ease as the momentum of their horse took them deep into the Red colored troops. 

The spearwall to the left had the reverses committed and began to swing around engulfing the Lannisters. Some turned to fight others already were trying to wriggle through the gaps to flee.

All the momentum from the charge had been lost and Robb had to jump quickly from his mount to avoid being pulled off and dragged into the mud. Using the flank of his horse as cover he grabbed a spear shaft and pulled the holder into his sword gutting the man. Withdrawing his blade he stabbed a man through the back then swept aside an incoming mace and cut the attacker’s face on the backswing. 

Cutting forward his new armor saved his life over and over again as blows glanced off. In the packed melee Robb could hear individuals screams and voices and grunts. His face was warm with the spray of blood and he had swallowed a fair amount of it, yet he drove on with a purpose.

Man after man fell, The Lannisters were in disarray, not sure which way to face as they were closed in one from three sides. His sword was useless in the press of men. Instead Robb was just using his heavy armored arm as protection and his dirk to fight forward. Trying to make contact with the Stark lines. 

Robb caught a sword in between his arm and side stabbing at another man who fell as he swiped the man whose sword he caught. Only glancing off his shoulder blade the man hit the dirt but was still able to grab at Robb’s ankle. He stomped on the back of his head over and over and over until it cracked. 

Looking around there were no more enemies in his immediate vicinity. 

The Lannisters were retreating on the one side they were free on. The upper right flank, their left, where Robb had broken their cavalry almost an hour ago. Reforming into a shield wall. 

The Stark infantry were cheering as the Tyrells under Randyll Tarly rounded to face the reformed soldiers. There was no time to find his father. They had to reform. 

Deciding to fight on foot Robb led the men around him to reform and face the Lannister who were pulling together into a schiltrom. The cavalry Robb had left were running up and down the sides of both forces. Using their complete cavalry dominance to prevent anyone from fleeing or taking back the highground. 

“Where’s my father?!” Robb shouted at some men holding the Direwolf banner (the non-crowned, non rose one). He got shrugged shoulders. He would worry about it later. 

Forming a half, crescent moon around the Lannister’s who had survived the trap both sides ground to a halt. Waiting for a command. After several heavy breaths Robb realized it was his command to give. That was foolish of him but before he kick himself something new arose. 

“STARK!” 

“STARK!”

The hell was that?

“STARK!” A Lannister knight in bloodied plate armor shouldered his way through the tight, defensive lines of red out into no man’s land. The boar of House Crakehall. Robb had almost forgotten about him. Lord Roland… That was his name. He planted himself in the space between the two lines. “COME FIGHT ME STARK!!” He bellowed. 

Another brute. What with the Westerlands and producing these monstrosities.

Oh he had to didn’t he. Couldn’t be a coward. This was his first field of battle. He needed the reputation as a brave King. 

“Your grace,” a blood coated Randyll Tarly found him. His Valyrian Claymore was just gore. The steel barely visible underneath the red. “What are your orders?”

“Get word to the Blackfish to bring the archers up, I’ll kill this idiot then rain death on them.”

“Yes your grace.”

Robb breathed out hard and left the safety of his numbers to meet Roland Crakehall in single combat. 

“You killed my son!”

“I did,” Robb agreed tiredly as he got in earshot. It was just them. All the multitudes either side temporarily forgotten. 

“Now I’m going to kill you.”

“He thought the same… All the way up when I drove my sword through his eye.”

Crakehall roared and came at him with an overhead swing. Robb blocked it but it staggered him. He wasn’t ready. Barely blocking the next two overhead swipes. Stumbling back he found his feet and took the next attack on the edge of his blade. The screeching of the steel was like a banshee’s cry. Gritting his teeth Robb tried to push Crakehall back but the older man was much stronger than him and shoved him back; wrong footing him again.

Barely able to recover he got his sword up for the second, furious charge.

Robb grunted in agony as Crakehall tackled him at the waist knocking all the air out of him. He landed in the mud and before he could think stars exploded over his vision as a heavy, mailed fist cracked him in the side of his helmet; catching part of his cheek.

He didn’t think to put his hands up but he did out of instinct and took several blows of hard fists on his forearms as he headbutted up. 

Crakehall roared again, even louder on top of him. Catching Robb with another fist and another. One more headbutt and he rolled off. They both lay next to each other in the mud breathing hard. Spitting out blood he rolled onto his knees and crawled to Crakehall dragging out his knife with what little energy he had. 

Robb stabbed down but only caught his shoulder. Crakehall held the blade in him, wrapping his fingers around Robb’s. Locked on the bigger man Robb punched left handed over and over as Crakehall’s free hand wrapped around his throat. 

He could barely get any air into his lungs as he desperately pressed his foe’s face sideways into the churned up ground. The puddles of water engulfing Crakehall’s face. 

He was struck over and over with his enemies’ free hand as his free hand was trying to force Crakehall into the water. Each of them still had a hand on knife. Robb trying to rip open a bigger wound with the trapped dirk. 

Pushing Lord Roland’s head into the mud Robb was able to stop his attacks as he slowly drowned on mud, blood and little water. As the man became weaker Robb was able to properly mount him and hold his head under the water until he stopped struggling. Pulling out his knife from Crakehall’s shoulder and screaming into his face in frustration Robb stabbed down several times.He staggered to his feet and began stomping on the man’s face, over and over until there was no resistance. Nothing but a bloody mess in bent and broken steel. 

Standing up from the single combat as the winner his men cheered loudly as he picked up his sword and limped back to his lines. Where Lord Tarly roughly patted him in congratulations.

Robb spat out a large wad of bloody spit. Maybe even a bit of his gum. But luckily none of his teeth. He looked down to make sure there was no white in the red only to instantly have to look up as the sky went temporarily dark. 

 

-Myr-

She kind of looked forward to being taunted by her former husband's mistress. That was the depth the former princess has sunk to in desperation for company. Something was happening outside. War she suspected. 

Her family who forgot about her and her former husband who had cheated on her and left her in prison. 

Who did she want to win? Was no one an option? 

If everyone killed everyone then maybe she could take all the gold from the castle and flee to Essos.That was stupid. She didn’t have the ability to even remotely fend for herself.

Margaery Tyrell came to see her when she had tried to stack everything which could be stacked to reach the only opening in the wall of her prison and sneak a peek out.

She scraped her knee falling and tripping but caught her balance on the desk which was the base of her tower. 

“Ouch,” she said a little pathetically as she carefully sat herself down on the edge of the desk holding her hands over the painful spot. Not looking up to acknowledge the other woman. She didn’t want to act like they were breaking her, even though she was already broken, and being physically weak was an even worse start to this conversation.

“Ouch, that looked painful,” Margaery said in a soft, soothing voice. Like one might talk to a horse before saddling it. Even though Myrcella could realize that, it still worked on her. She looked up quickly to catch the false sympathy in those brown eyes before snapping her head back down. “Would you like me to send for a maester?”

“No… No thank you.” Why thank this woman?! She was an enemy Myrcella chided herself.

“I could look at it? If you like, I used to tend to my brother’s wounds when he was practicing with sticks with the stable boys.”

“Erm… I... “

“Let me take a look.”

Again Myrcella cursed herself for basically giving in. However it was nice to have another human touch her. Made her feel like she was part of the world for a brief moment, which she wasn’t sure she was in during her isolation as a prisoner. Her cuts from falling in the tunnel the night her family abandoned her had healed. She was still very unused to pain. 

“What were you doing up there?” Margaery asked as she took a tie of ribbon from her hair, under her crown, and wrapped it around the scrape. 

“I heard a commotion.”

“War… I’m afraid.”

“Against my mother and my grandfather?”

“Indeed, however everyone wars with everyone at some point and then peace comes and friendship form,” Margaery look up over the knot she was making in the ribbon to shoot Myrcella a condescending smile. “We’re all be friends again.”

That sounded nice. She would have believed in readily before all of this.

Yet now she was questioning everything which she used to accept on face value. She had foolishly thought that everyone was friends and the Starks and the Lannisters had no problems. That her mother and her father weren’t close but still loved each other deep down… She had it wrong, so, so, so, wrong. So what did friends even mean? Hating each other behind false smiles until the hate became too pressurized and steel and fire had to release the steam of hatred and then the cycle restarted. 

So if that part of her brain was telling her to just give in to the false friendship and slightly maternally behavior of Margaery Tyrell. Another, new, developing, part of her brain was loudly reminding her that she ought to hate this person. That she wasn’t here to be nice and become friends with her. There was something she wanted.

Probably to manipulate her. To trick her. To extract something from her naivety. 

Myrcella knew she had no choice to play along. There was no reason for Margaery not to think she was just a stupid, little girl; easy to control and probably desperate for any sort of succor. So maybe that was one sliver of advantage. Or maybe self-delusion. She would probably would just be used and thrown away.

…

Just had to try to make sure that wasn’t the case.

“I hope so,” she finally replied to Margaery, smiling awkwardly at her then purposefully looking away. Pretending it was an unguarded moment of gratitude.

 

-R-

The battle hadn’t seemed so terrifying when it was happening. It was relatively quick for him. The long drawn out slog of the heavy infantry and spearmen which may have been happening for over an hour passed him by. For him it had been fast, brutal engagements. Now the horror was sinking in. The Lannisters had retreated in decent order and reformed after his heavy cavalry attack in their rear. However Robb’s now domination of the horse on the battlefield meant his skirmishers could move without fire coming back into positions around the red lines.

The first few volleys weren’t so bad.

The orders barked, the whoosh of the projectiles taking flight, the crack of a whip they made as the rained onto shields and armor… But inevitably into flesh too. 

The more that flew the more disturbing it got. The Lannister lines had to keep reforming as the arrows fell, but as men died and slipped in the mud more tripped on them and the formation became rougher and less protective. 

“ROBB!”

He heard the voice, he recognized it was his father, but he didn’t truly acknowledge it. He was too mesmerized by the Riverland archers pouring thousands of cruel steel raindrops onto his enemies. 

“ROBB!” A bloody but uninjured Eddard Stark grabbed his shoulder. “Stop this, they’re done. Let them surrender!”

He ignored his father. Why? Why should he allow these men to escape? To reform a second army? It was stupid and more people would die down the road if there was a second battle. 

***

“Tywin Lannister has more heavy infantry than us. A lot more.”

“He will break a hole then push his reverses in. It’s what anyone would do.”

“Then we let him.”

“Your grace?”

“We let him,” Robb looked up from the map. The candles in the war tent were blowing almost out in the wind from the Trident. Casting eerie lights over the maps. “We let him break our centre… Here,” Robb tapped the map. “He’ll commit his reserve.”

“Then we’ll lose…”

“No we won’t, I’ll lead the cavalry on the right here,” another tap of the map. “We’ll chase them from the field and chase them through these trees. To attack their baggage train.”

“Leaving us without horse too.”

“Or so it would appear to Tywin as he tries to break our lines. Pushing that advantage,” Robb explained. He was the least experienced man here but he was sure of his strategy. Especially as the opposing one was to line up for a pitched battle and hope they were the better men. Terrible hubris.

“This is a big risk.”

“Well I’m King and I’ve decided. Lord Bolton you have a very important role too…”

***

The arrows were stopping but Robb had not commanded it. The Blackfish. He must share Eddard Stark’s compassion. The lines of the Lannister reformed as best they could pushing backwards away from those dead and the majority who were dying. The showers of arrows hitting a defensive wall were able to wound more than kill.

“Find me a horse,” Robb pushed past his father. He couldn’t be seen to being told how to act on the battlefield by his daddy. “We have to find Tywin and Jaime NOW!” 

Horses were found and the cavalry who were patrolling the Lannister formation, stopping runners, gathered around Robb as they rode again, for the third charge of the day. 

Robb did not want his father to see what he was planning on doing. Even if Tywin threw down his weapons he wasn’t planning on accepting a surrender. The man had to die to keep the crown on his head. Even to just keep his head.

The hooves beat, his heart was beating.

He had waited too long. The quick makeshift camp at the point of the hill where the Lannisters had directed their failed battle plan was deserted. He waited too long… Lingering to bask in the success of his plans. 

“Keep riding push forward,” Robb ordered his captain as he turned his horse to return to the battlefield.

***

“A King listens Robb,” Eddard Stark cornered his son alone on the eve of battle. “You have many lords here who have lead men into battle before.”

“A King listens? Which King are you thinking of.”

“A good King listens.”

“Such as?”

Eddard Stark frowned deeply at his son. 

“I don’t know what a good King is father, everyone has all these examples and dreams of what they ought to be but we haven’t had one for a while have we? Even if the realm had a good king then there were inbred heirs in waiting.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t listen.”

“I need to lead! I need to!” Robb snapped at his father, his voice cracking in the most unmasculine manner. Clearing his throat to recover. “I need to lead, and I have faith in my plan. Did you let old Hoster Tully tell you how to fight the rebellion? Or did you carve out your own reputation as the new leader of the North?”

“It’s a risky plan Robb. I didn’t take such risks.”

“You rebelled against the throne…”

“You know what I meant.”

“If we deploy our cavalry against his then deploy our infantry against his then hope for the best that is a risk in itself. We’re doing it my way,” Robb found his confidence.

“All our heads be it?”

“Pretty much. The burden of being a King father.”

***

Around four thousand of the coalition Robb Stark had led to the field had died, about the same were injured. The battle hadn’t seemed that bloody to him. The benefit of striking on horseback and not slogging it in the mud. However it was. Assessing the field. Thousands were dead and the carrion birds were already picking the bodies.

A lot of men had escaped and fled to the Westerlands. Those who fled on the left flank and weren’t caught in the pincer escaped in number. The right and centre had been decimated and there were a lot of prisoners.

The idea of ordering their execution did flash in my mind for a second but Robb dismissed that.

They had to choose now. No. He had to choose, whether or not to return to King’s Landing and try to gather more levies or pursue the Lannisters.

Sieging Casterly Rock would take months if not years.

And Margaery was in King’s Landing…

 

-Myr-

The city felt the same but different. Weird. It was nice to be out and to stretch her legs. Walking with Margaery Tyrell and her crown and her green cloaked guards wasn’t so nice. Still being out, outweighed that restriction. 

Margaery had insisted on holding her hand like a couple, or sisters or maybe friends. Something that they definitely weren’t. 

Still there was little Myrcella could do. If she snapped at or attacked Margaery Tyrell then it most likely mean she would have no one to talk to. Until she either became useful and was sold off politically, or was no longer useful and would have a far nastier visitor. 

“See life goes on,” Margaery was condescending to such an extreme it was painful. “Well for everyone else, as we play our games.”

“I haven’t played any games.”

“No, I suppose not. Cyvasse, is a good example. Someone moves the pieces other people are moved.”

“Some get the benefit of not playing.”

“Everyone plays. Life in Flea Bottom is a game with their own relatively big players and…”

“I’ve lived here all my life,” Myrcella couldn’t help but interrupt. 

“So I don’t need to tell you,” Margaery took it all in stride. Myrcella knew that the other woman was constantly looking at her and smiling broadly. She focused forward. 

“I’ve never moved a piece,” she offered up. The whole plan of pretending she starting to open up to her captor had to start somewhere.

“I haven’t until recently,” Margaery pulled her along by the hand to the battlements overlooking the Blackwater. There was black smoke rising from the bay. “Now it all seems rather grim. Though things need to be done. For a greater good.”

“As you say…” Myrcella didn’t want to ask what the ship was or who was on or how it was relevant to the conversation. The answer she knew was just more horror. There was no good news in Westeros. 

“So ends the line of Baratheon,” Margaery muttered. Well there was the answer. “It’s tough having enemies.”

“I don’t like being yours,” Myrcella admitted.

“We’re not enemies surely?” Margaery turned and fixed her with those deep expressive eyes. Doe eyes. Pretty ironic for her of all people to have eyes like a deer. “I don’t wish to be!”

“No me neither,” Myrcella lied.

“Good, come let’s eat somewhere nicer than your quarters. I can trust you behave can’t I?”

“Of course.”

“Good girl,” Margaery bent slightly to kiss her once on each cheek then lightly on the lips. Myrcella imagined it was the cold shiver and sting one might feel from a White Walker’s touch, Yet when she pulled back Myrcella gave her what she hoped was a warm smile. “Come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever been so hungover you've thought about killing yourself? I mean not actually doing it or being serious. Just this is so bad and will be so bad for so long is it worth a whole life to put up with?  
> I blame everyone but myself.
> 
> Happy New Year.


	21. -2-1-

-A-

She couldn’t wait to leave now. The worry about missing out on something was gone… That seemed like a quaint notion. Arya had taken to walking further and further out of the city, down the shores, still in the protection of the capitol but away from the rot of the Red Keep. Margaery Tyrell was up to even less good? More no good… Whatever. She was up to something worse. She spent too much time with the Myrcella girl. The former princess. How foolish Arya was to dislike her brother’s first wife. A pretty but plain girl was what he needed clearly. Not a pretty and cunning one. It didn’t matter. She knew in her bones that Margaery ordered Gendry dead. The blacksmith’s apprentice bled out in front of her. Right in the street. The life left his eyes as they were fixed on her. She barely slept properly since. Dark thoughts growing where sleep hadn’t come in the night. The ship she was meant to take had diverted itself. After some fire or piracy. Something had happened. She wasn’t told. Her father and Robb’s victory had only been told to her as an afterthought. 

This lack of inclusion suited her. She could sneak around. Very few people even knew she was a highborn. That she liked. Her steps down the beachline got further from the castle. There were apparently caves which led to escape tunnels back in the Red Keep. They hadn’t been useful to the last three Kings. Hopefully Robb wouldn’t need them. Despite being a complete arsehole he was still her brother. Her stupid, crazy whore marrying, arrogant brother. Arya kicked a rock in anger into the rock walls of the cliff. It dropped instead of bouncing off. That was strange. She approached the cliff looking for her kicked stone. There were just holes in the cliff eroded by water… Not a secret tunnel… Oh well. Arya kept moving on trying to get rid of her anger and think clearly. Far up the beach, far further than she had been where the cliff was becoming lower and disappearing, she saw an old man looking around on the sand. 

“What are you doing?”

“Shit!” The man jumped out of his skin looking up at her. “Gods girl you near gave me a heart attack.” 

“Sorry…”

“That’s alright, what you doing all the way out here?”

“Walking. I have nothing… Wait, hey, I asked you first.”

“True you did. Alright, I’m just looking for oysters.”

“Are you homeless?”

“No… Well, aye I might be until I get home.”

“If you have a home you’re not homeless.”

“So no. Just sleeping rough for a few nights. Not that I’m in any shape to.”

“Where’s you home?”

“Over the sea.”

“You don’t look like you’re from Essos…”

“No,” he barked a short sad laugh. “No I’m not.”

“Tarth or Dragonstone?”

“Sorry girl?”

“Tarth or Dragonstone?”

“Tarth.”

“Ok.”

“Are you from the city?”

“No. I’m from further on then there.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Away.”

“Father?”

“Away.”

“Right. Right. Sorry about that.”

“Do you want me to bring you food? I could easily.”

“I wouldn’t ask a young girl to help me. I wouldn’t normally but I’m bleeding starving.”

***

Arya brought food for the old man and they talked, well he talked answering her question after question about his travels. That Arya enjoyed. Returning to the Red Keep not so much. The giant Tyrell army had been assembling slowly around the city and green sigils were everywhere. The only non-Tyrell banner she had seen was the crowned Direwolf. Even that had a bloody rose on it. Or on Cayn strutting around, he was a honorless murderer. She hated him almost as much as Margaery. 

No one paid any attention to her. She got what she wanted and was ignored. The only person who she spoke to was the old man by the caves or the kitchen staff.

Margery would talk to her in the halls of the Red Keep but she didn’t really talk, it was all empty hollow courtly speech. Nonsense. It was sinister that that murderer could walk around and behave so falsely sickly sweet and behave so cruelly. 

“You don’t like the Queen eh?”

“No! I really don’t. Shireen Baratheon should be Queen!” Arya sullenly told the old man as she brought him a satchel of food and supplies as he said he had the strength to make his move homewards now. That saddened Arya.

“You think?”

“Yes of course. She should have arrived from Dragonstone by now!”

“She should.”

“I bet that bitch did something to her.”

“You think?”

“Yes, she is… Capable.”

“You know a lot about the Queen for an orphan.”

“Orphan? I’m not an orphan.”

 

-R-

His father and Randyl Tarly went to pursue Tywin back to the Rock. Robb returned with a contingent, passing Lord Hightower and Mace Tyrell leading the now huge host from the Reach on their way for a siege. His good-father slapped him on the back and congratulated his raucously on his victory and introduced his best friend and then rode off. The armor Lord Tyrell had donned to parade out of the city was so ludicrous it made Robb feel a lot better about his.

He wanted to get back into the city, the Red Keep definitely felt like home now. Especially with Margaery waiting for him there.

Robb hopped down from his horse in the courtyard of the Red Keep, he had galloped through the streets with retinue, and now was running up the stairs to the throne room. 

He burst into an empty throne room, then an empty office and finally an empty garden. That was anti-climatic. He was looking for Margaery and found no one. He trudged back to his solar to wait. He saw Arya sneaking around. Carrying a leather pack over her shoulder. That probably wasn’t good. He didn’t care right now. His sister was a secondary concern… Actually she should have been on a ship back to the North by now. She probably befriended some commoner.

“Margaery!” Robb pushed open the doors to his solar. He had kept his armor on so he looked like a warrior returning from battle.

“Robb!” He was almost knocked over as his wife ran into him and was kissing his face, over and over. “Hey,” she breathed slowly after kissing him properly. 

“Hey. You won I knew you’d win, didn’t even worry about it. I’m glad you’re back, I’ll have some proper food brought for you…”

“Myrcella?”

“Oh yes, I decided to make sure our GUEST does feel like a prisoner. It isn’t her fault after all.”

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Margaery please.”

She made a noise of indignation but was quiet momentarily.

Robb walked very slowly over to his former wife. He had put off talking to the former princess and now he was confronted with her. Actually thinking about it he put off talking to his father until he arrived and was confronted with him. Not particularly brave for a man who wanted to lead the heavy cavalry. The hand he had used to kill countless men just a handful of days ago was shaking in front of a teenage girl just as it had shaken picking up a quill. 

“Your grace,” she bowed her head and curtseyed. The way a serving girl might. That made him feel horrible. There was something about her. Wait what? He stopped himself. Don’t become attracted to her… Again. 

“Myrcella…” Robb had literally nothing. No words came. “Sorry,” he finally mumbled. Oh that was very regal of him. She just fixed him with sad emerald eyes. Her face was still beautiful but her eyes were sad. There was a glance towards Margaery and they flashed with hatred. “Do you want to talk?” He offered a little pathetically. 

“If you wish your grace,” she replied neutrally, in her soft, innocent voice.

“I’ll come talk to you later then…”

“Yes off you go, good girl,” Margaery swooped in to usher the former princess out. “You can find your way back, I trust you.” 

Robb couldn’t help but watch her leave, catching himself and stopping himself from reacquainting himself with her body. He waited several beats before talking. He felt a little ridiculous in his full plate armor now. 

“You’re back!” Margaery sang as she came to him, standing, rooted to the spot, his mind whirring. “I’m so happy you’re back!”

“Yes, yes, strange return though,” he replied pushing past her to start taking off his armor. “I didn’t expect to see her.”

“Myrcella? She’s harmless.”

“Perhaps, what are you doing with her?” 

“Oh just being friendly. I felt bad for her down there in her room, with no company.”

That was probably true. Margaery was a good person, that made him feel better, she was just sad that his ex-wife was alone and isolated and went to help. That was sweet. Myrcella was blameless after all. He had pushed her out his mind so completely he had forgotten what she looked liked… Probably shouldn’t be thinking about the woman he spurned while he was with his wife. 

“That’s good of you.”

“Thanks for telling me to shut up by the way,” she added, coming up behind him to undo the leather straps on his cuirass. 

“Sorry about that, I was… It was a shock.”

“Are you injured?”

“No, couple more scars.”

“Good,” she breathed into his ear and the bit the lobe, “they suit you.”

“They do?” he smiled, turning around to face her as he took off the last of his plate. 

“I only slept with you when the Strongboar cut you…” She grinned, her deep brown eyes dancing with that mischief. 

“His father found me on the field,” Robb told her, as she pushed off item after item of clothing from his body. “I had almost forgotten… A lot has happened in too short a space of time to process it.”

“What happened?”

“I drowned him in the mud.”

“Good. Let’s not talk about war now. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It’s been a fortnight or so…”

“Like you said, a lot happens in a short space of time,” Margaery playfully chided him, as she pulled off his tunic.

 

-Myr- 

She was being allowed to walk back to her own room, well cell. Like a good pet. Margaery would talk grandly about how wonderful and lovely things would be under her rule and how everyone would be the best of friends. Not all the dead and soon to be dead. Myrcella just sipped at her wine and agreed where she ought to. Everything had been changed, all the furnishings had been switched to an updated wolf and rose theme. Even Myrcella thought that was a selfish use of resources when at war.

The room was cold every time she entered.

Robb… That was unexpected. Actually was it? Was it something Margaery engineered? If she knew which ship Shireen Baratheon was on to sink the thing it was highly unlikely that she didn’t know the King was coming back at that time.

She hadn’t laid too much blame on Robb, especially since she had spent some time with the new Queen. Seeing her deviousness and heartlessness first hand. Margaery reminded her of her mother, if her mother’s power was unrestrained. Whereas Robb told her to be quiet and clearly felt bad… He wanted to speak to Myrcella.

Still he did cheat on her. Did crown himself King. 

It was probably a bit childish of her to work out who was to blame more as if she had any power to wrought any justice upon those who wronged her. Again she was just a lowly piece on this particular playing board who had no power to influence. At least not in her current place. She needed to gain more trust of the realm’s new beloved rulers.

In the meantime… Well nothing. There was nothing to do. Just wait. Wait for that knock at the door. 

***

Despite waiting for it for ages when the knock on the door came, her heart leapt into her throat and started pounding like crazy. It was just a food delivery. She needed to workout a way to proceed with Robb… If she was convincing Margaery to be the little pet princess she wanted then she needed a plan with him too. She would far too awkward and embarrassed to be seductive. 

***

Robb smelt like alcohol when he came to visit, not like her father used to, just a bit. He looked nervous and sheepish, lingering around her door for her while as she overheard him mumbling to himself. A lot of “just go in there.” Then came a couple of very painful minutes of him sitting on a chair next to her, just awkwardly dragged into the centre of the room. 

“So… You won a battle?” She tried. Actually sounding conversational.

“Yes, yes I did,” he raised his head to glance at her. “I did…”

“Against my family?”

“Who else?”

“Right. Congratulations.”

“On the battle?”

“Yes… What else?”

“I don’t know, it was a stupid question.”

“No… I.. Nevermind.”

“Go on.”

“Thought you were being sarcastic about what happened.”

“Never been sarcastic before.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm…”

Myrcella suppressed a small laugh, trying to look vulnerable and weak instead, make him feel guilty. She just shrugged and opened up her palms to show she meant nothing by it. 

“This is… I don’t know what to say, I tried to prepare things before but nothing came,” Robb explained. Myrcella was tempted to say bluntly; ‘say sorry for being an adulterer.’ That wouldn’t do her any favors.

“It’s hard but I understand.” She lied. 

“Do you? Not sure I would.”

“Woman get moved around more than men, I’ve been prepared for it since I could walk.”

“Right… I guess that’s true.”

“It is true. So… You know.”

“So you don’t want to steal my knife and stab me repeatedly to death?”

“No!” Myrcella didn’t. Maybe his wife… But not him. “I loved you… I never really had any closure on that. Now I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“No do you?”

“Know how I feel towards you? Erm, I don’t know,” Robb murmured. He paused to think and she looked up at him for the first sustained amount of time since he came to her. He looked different. His beard was closely cropped, as was his hair. Still incredibly handsome… Annoyingly so. Yet she had used to like his unkempt hair. That was probably a Margaery suggestion. “So that leaves us in a strange place doesn’t it? I’m not sending terms to Lord Tywin, we’re sieging the Rock and ending this… So we can’t trade you or anything.”

“Thinking out loud?”

“Yes, should, well sorry, but yes should have confronted things sooner.”

“Can I have my freedom about the castle as you consider it?” Myrcella asked with mock timidity. 

“Of course. Yes that would be… Yes fine. Good. A good idea,” Robb rambled as he stood up slowly. “Well I’ll… Goodbye.”

“Farewell your grace.”

He paused as he walked to the door at that, very slight pause with his back to her but she noticed it before he left. The main thing Myrcella took from that interaction was whenever she said she was fine or wasn’t angry he opened up and was pained himself. Just something to note. 

***

It was hard to really be a cunning, evil genius if she didn’t really know what the goal was. Gain Margaery’s trust and then make Robb feel bad about himself. Good, just then what? She had nowhere to go. It sounded like the only place she would safe was about to be sieged after losing in the field. Full of abandoners. 

Wasn’t much there.

She was glad to be able to walk around. Myrcella was sure she was going insane in that room. That would have been enough of a victory if she had just decided to give in and allow herself to be done with what others decided for her. Now it was thinking time, just hoping something would come. 

There were two types of look she got from people. Suspicious. Sympathy. Neither good. 

She needed a place to think alone, it was impossible to concentrate when she was being stared at. 

 

-A-

“I brought you food!” Arya whined indignantly as she wriggled her hands together in the rope binding them tight. “I was nice to you.”

“I know and don’t think I don’t feel terrible about this.”

“Well you don’t or you’d let me go,” Arya shouted trying to at least kick rocks at him with her bound feet. Some small act of defiance. 

“Don’t think I ain’t tempted.”

“So who are you?”

“Does it matter now…” He thought out loud stroking his beard. “I suppose not. I’m Davos Seaworth.”

“Who?”

“Oh right, you wouldn’t know. I was sworn to Stannis Baratheon.”

“My brother fought for him!”

“Then he crowned himself King, instead of Shireen.”

“I thought it should have been Shireen…”

“Did you now?” He looked surprised. “She would have been a good Queen, if people gave her a chance just to be good, and sweet and considerate. Before all the snakes wrapped themselves around her. Doesn’t matter now.”

“Why not?”

“You talk a lot.”

“I do. Why not?”

“Your brother killed her.”

“No he didn’t,” Arya started to thrash around in the binds. “No he didn’t! He did not! He isn’t even back from fighting the Lannisters yet.”

“Well he left the order.”

“I don’t believe it. He would never kill a child… He was going to make her the Lady of Storm’s End.”

“Well the flaming ballista bolt came from the outer curtain wall of the Red Keep. Only the royal family could do that.”

“Margaery. It was her. That awful bitch.”

“Tyrell?”

“Yes! It’s her, she’s poisoned my brother’s mind. She killed your Queen. She… She is… She’s a crazy, power hungry bitch!” Arya shouted. It was easier for her to get the fury going when talking about Margaery Tyrell. Just the name made her angry. He let her shout herself out. Finally when she stopped he came over and fed her some water. “Thanks I guess… Look how do you know I’m even Arya Stark and not some orphan with delusions of grandeur?”

“You did just say a lot of things I think only Arya Stark would say.”

“Should have kept my mouth shut,” Arya relaxed a bit. All the fury gone she was begrudgingly relaxed. “So what’s your plan? If your Queen is dead what use is a prisoner?”

“I don’t know.”

“So WHY TAKE ME CAPTIVE THEN!” The anger returned in a flood and she started thrashing.

“Stop that!” Davos approached her and again and picked her shoulder from the floor of the cave and propped her against a rock. “You’ve cut yourself!” 

“Fine, I’m calm, calm as calm can be,” she told him in a very not calm voice. 

***

Her forearm hurt, she had cut it when thrashing around. It wasn’t too deep but it stung. Especially when night came and the cold sea wind howled around the cave. Davos had built a pitiful fire and it did little to reverse the pain from the wind.

“That’ll do,” Davos slumped down opposite her over his small fire. “Don’t want to throw a light out of the cave.”

“Why? If you’re going to use me as a hostage doesn’t someone have to know you have a hostage?”

“That’s true… I’m simple man, I’m not a tactician. I’m not thinking right. I tell myself every few seconds just to let you go and flee across the sea. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re a terrible kidnapper.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“Let’s just bandage your cut and I’ll think on it.”

“Fine. Will you untie me?”

“Not yet, I get the impression you’d try to hurt me and run away.”

“So?”

Davos snorted a laugh as he knelt by her and started to bind her cut with some torn fabric. 

***

“This is getting worse…” Davos was staring at her cut. She hadn’t slept much but morning came eventually. “I’m no maester…”

“So I’m going to die and it’ll be your fault.”

“You’re not going to die,” he dismissed her without looking away from the damaged flesh. “I don’t think.”

“You need to take me to the Red Keep.”

“I… I…”

“Don’t tell them who you are, I’ll say I cut myself and you saved me.”

“Easy to make promises when tied up.”

“I’m not a liar!” Arya’s anger returned again. 

“Fine, fine,” he held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. I apologize. You just have to understand my situation.”

“I’m not as sympathetic as you might imagine.”

He laughed again and shook his head. 

“You’re a good kid.”

“Then take me to the Red Keep! I’ll get you some cash reward and you can go on your merry way.”

“I need to think.”

“You have my word.”

“Well thank you then, but I still need to think.”

“Hope you think of something better than you have so far,” she said snarkily. He just laughed again. She still didn’t dislike the man, well part of her obviously did, but ultimately the fault fell at the feet of Margaery Tyrell. The source of all the ills of the world. 

“Well think quickly before I die.”

“I will. You remind me a bit of Stannis and a bit of Shireen… Nevermind.”

 

-T-

His heart hadn’t left his throat since around mid-afternoon on the Trident. When his father’s carefully laid plans were scuppered by Robb Stark’s heavy cavalry. From on the hill, atop his horse, Tyrion could see the heavy infantry of the Lannister lines breaking the Stark centre. He couldn’t recall feeling pleased but he must have done. Then when the enemy cavalry disappeared to seemingly chase theirs from the field the battle it looked about done. His father’s dismissive statement that Stark was too green to be leading any armies were soon made hollow made by the pincer move.

It was like Stark’s lines were the anvil and Robb Stark was the hammer.

The march back had to be hurried. The men on foot who fell to their knees were left to die. Those at the back were harassed by light missile cavalry all the way back into safe territory

Tyrion’s horse broke and his father forced some knight to give up his. 

Casterly Rock was a welcome relief. Finally safety. Which lasted for all of half an afternoon until the ravens came saying the now bolstered allied army was following them. The Tyrells had finally amassed their colossal force and the Freys had at last committed their 10,000 men now the war was clearly going a certain way. . 

“I should have been there!” Jaime was aperletic. Cersei was still barred from family discussions. The fault being placed solely on her shoulders. Tyrion had little sympathy for her. 

“Your presence on the field was sorely missed!” 

“Oh be quiet Loch, you fool,” Tywin shut down the conversation. “What would that have done? Your arrogance is not needed now. We lost. We lost our experienced troops and many levies. Soon we will be under siege. Braggadocious stories of what could have been are of no use to us.”

“How are your levies coming along brother?” Tyrion asked.

“Finally a pertinent question.”

“12,000 men have mustered, can’t say they would stand up in the field.”

“No? Then we can’t rely on those numbers.”

***

Jaime had managed to stay furious for longer than Tyrion thought it possible for someone to stay furious. Tyrion was just drinking cups of wine waiting for his brother to cool off. It was nice to be able to drink again. Finally that pounding of his heart had stopped. 

“Bullshit!” Jaime finally addressed Tyrion. “This is bullshit, father is treating me like an idiot. I stormed Pyke! He lost to a vanguard commander sitting at the back of the battle while I was sitting at home instead of leading our cavalry to victory!”

“You fucked our sister and made illegitimate heirs to throne… I would say,” Tyrion spoke very slowly, examining the contents of his cup rather than look at his brother. “Being left out of a catastrophic military loss is your punishment. I would say all things considered that this has worked out well for you…”

Jaime had just stopped mid pacing to stare daggers at Tyrion. 

“Before we all are killed and our heads paraded around King’s Landing that is.”

“That won’t happen.”

“No seems likely to me,” Tyrion continued unfazed, looking into his cup as he swirled the contents. It helped him think. 

“Where’s your honor?”

“Honor? Well I don’t know, I think I have some. In my own small way, but it isn’t a matter of honor. You’re smart Jaime but you let your sword think for you. You’d be a better man if you weren’t able to use violence as the go to, default solution.”

“Maybe I would,” Jaime conceded calming down somewhat, pouring himself some wine and at last taking a seat. “However I do have that solution.”

“Do what I do and get drunk, no one wants to fight when they’re drunk.”

“Literally everyone wants to fight when they get drunk.”

“True actually. Well it soothes me down. The point is this Jaime, we lost badly in the field. Really badly. It was a clever plan in truth.”

“Yes, yes, the Young Wolf is a tactical genius never before seen,” Jaime drawled as he took large, healthy swigs from his cup.

“Well sarcasm aside he did well. Now father’s plan was to use the readily assembled might of the Westerlands to strike like a hammer and scatter their forces before they could fully amass their true numbers.”

“I know.”

“Recapping is part of the storytelling experience.”

“I thought we were just talking.”

“No, now would you kindly shut up. Good, now we have very few battle hardened soldiers to field. Barely any soldiers at all really. Stark has three Kingdoms, almost 80,000 men. We can field what? 25 to 30,000 maybe now. Those aren’t good numbers. Casterly Rock can only take a siege no pitched battles.”

“A siege wouldn’t work.”

“Well no and yes, if they’re willing to leave an army outside of our gates for a decade then it would work. We have no friends. We have rich lands. There is plenty to gain from wiping us out. Rich enough lands to worth putting in some real time.”

“Then maybe we’re in for a siege.”

“I have no clue. I don’t think Robb Stark knows what he is doing. I met him, he was nice enough…”

“Pfft.”

“Oh be quiet he was, you’re the one who is a prick. I think he’s just making it up as he goes along and it currently is working for him.”

***

Jaime and Cersei spent even more time together back home. It had been a long time since either had been here. Tyrion didn’t miss them. Well he missed one half.

Looking out from the high battlements of the citadel Tyrion saw the depressing sight of siege preparations. Corn and barley and salted meats. What a joy. The Lannisters were hiding in their castle. His father was spending a lot of time alone in his study. Which was reassuring he was thinking of how to get them off of this disaster. 

It was weirdly calming to watch all the peasants bringing in their wagons and the empty ones leave. Seeing the guards milling around and the sappers preparing the ground leading up to the walls and leaving nasty surprises in the moat. It would be very not too calm very soon. So he was planning on taking in the next few days before the storm came rumbling, angrily over the hills and fields. 

 

-M-

“The spies tell me that your husband is very popular with the common folk,” Olenna told her as she examined prunes trying to find one she liked the look of. “Known for his bravery in battle. The Lannisters weren’t popular and neither was the Mountain so their defeat has been taken well.”

“That is good news.”

“There is no speak of Shireen. The Starks are a solitary bunch so they’re a bit legendary to the smallfolk of the South it would seem. Known for their honor and simple ways and prowess in battle. It’s all good. Very good in fact,” she told Margaery alone at their gazebo in the rose garden. “Like he’s come down to save them. Ridiculous stuff. I had to press the spies and informers as I didn’t believe them at first. It was as if they were telling me exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“It is exactly what I want to hear. What about me?” Margaery asked a little tentatively. 

“They love you. The last Queen was a horrid bitch who detested everyone, not even just the common folk but everyone.”

“So I’m just good in comparison to Cersei?” She was a little offended. She wanted to be loved by the scum. The idea of being a beloved King and Queen ushering in a new era was enchanting. That she and Robb would be a tale told forever, longer than Aegon and his dragons. 

“I don’t like it when you fish for compliments.”

“Well it’ more information I need which happens to be complementary,” Margaery retorted.

“Hmmm, you’ll be a strong Queen I think.” Olenna surveyed her momentarily before nodding. “Provided your ruthlessness doesn’t become public.”

“Lies spread by enemies of the new crown! The new crown is honest and this is just an attempt by our enemies to usher in their own cruel and dishonest King and Queen. Queen Cersei!” Margaery said placing her hands over her heart and pretending to look aggrieved. 

“I’m glad it’s you and not me under that crown, I don’t think even in my youth I was capable of that level of coldness.”

Margaery just shrugged and reached for some fruit. 

“So… Are people saying anything about me?” She asked with a smirk before popping a grape in her mouth. 

“Good things. You’re seen as beautiful and lovely and all that stomach turning nonsense.”

“The people’s opinions aren’t nonsense grandma!”

“She lies to herself, you only care because they’re positive.”

“Perhaps,” she smirked again.

“So why in the hell are you spending time with girl you replaced.”

“Myrcella?”

“Who else?”

“Oh, I just thought she was bored and locked in there and you know I would reach out to the poor girl.”

“You know I don’t believe that.”

“Well it’s all I’m saying,” Margaery rolled her eyes. “So let’s leave it at that.”

“The first time you’ve used your new authority to shut down a loved one.”

“Please don’t make me do it more.”

“You missed the point. Do you think that Cersei thought she was a bad person?”

“Yes. She knew what she was doing.”

“You don’t think she believed she was acting in the best interest of the realm?”

“No of course not.”

“So you don’t see the difference between a bad person willingly doing bad things and a good person who thinks bad things are necessary but they’re still good at heart?”

“No I don't. Anyway I’m going have a wonderful evening grandmother,” Margaery stood up and smiled and turned quickly to pace away. 

“Try not to kill anymore children dear.”

That was uncalled for. She had killed one child, if she didn’t the whole realm might suffer. Well she had ordered for Robert’s bastards to tracked down and ended too. However she didn’t know if they were children, if they were men or women, so her conscience was completely clean on that. In fact her conscience was clean completely. Tarnishing one own’s honor by say sinking a ship for a greater good was in fact a good thing so she was crystal clear conscience wise. 

Robb was sleeping still. She made a point to fuck his brains out when he was all conflicted about Myrcella. Poor Robb. He was such a good man that needed her guidance here and there to behave properly and do what was best. 

“Your grace.”

“Good morning Cayn,” Margaery had taken an office in the Red Keep to conduct the business she needed conducted quietly. “I’m sorry you missed the battle.”

“It’s fine your grace, I was here serving the realm in my own way.”

He was a very good man. It was good to have a loyal Northerner in their joint service. 

“Yes, you’ve done very well. How many dead?”

“33 at the current count.”

She whistled, “Robert was a naughty boy eh?”

“So it would seem your grace.”

“You’ve done very well Cayn, I think you can certainly expect a white cloak if that’s what you want?”

“I wouldn’t wish to make demands your grace… However I would be honored if I were given one.”

“Then you will be.”

“Thank you your grace. With your permission I shall take my leave and get myself some appropriate clothing for my knighthood.”

“Of course of course, take some cash from the treasury.”

“Thank you your grace,” Cayn dipped his head in a low bow and exited.

Soon word would arrive from the West and the siege lines would be prepared, any other contenders, no matter how minor, for her throne would be taken care of. All the kingdoms which mattered would be united by marriage and the Lannisters would become a distant memory and House Martell could fester in peace… For now.


	22. -2-2-

-R-

Already he was being a bad King. Hiding in the old Stark barracks he and his men used when he was married to Myrcella. Drinking wine from a skin and dragging a whetstone over his sword in slow, deliberate strokes. The simplicity of sharpening the steel was pleasant. Finishing with his sword, Robb took his two knives out and laid them next to him, taking a quick squirt of wine. He judged Robert Baratheon for being constantly drunk but the pressure was overwhelming and a little wine took the edge off. 

Had to watch that though. Couldn’t turn into the man he was professing to be a better King than. 

An hour he spent in the barracks, easily, really taking his time to get away from the squabbling. Already after his first court minor lords of the Crownlands had come to bother him from stone masons to rebuild this or that, loans, weaponry for their levies. It was tedious. Margaery was happy to take over the decoration of the throne room. Some sort of wolfy, rosey, wolf rose nonsense he couldn’t even pretend to care about.

“Your grace?”

“Come in Cayn.”

“Do you want some time alone your grace?”

“No, well yes, but I don’t mind your company.”

“Thank your grace,” he walked over to the chair opposite Robb and sat down stiffly. He looked different. His shoulder length hair was now closely cropped and pushed backwards, his beard gone and clad in the gold and silver armor of the Kingsguard. His new Lord Commander. It was lucky Ser Barristan had died or vanished, probably died, as he couldn’t have a Kingsguard who had served so many regents. 

“Here,” he threw the wine skin. Cayn opened it and poured out a measure into his mouth before throwing it back. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course your grace.”

“Robb is fine when it’s just us. You knew me before anyone even called me my lord.”

“True,” he smiled catching the wine skin as it was thrown back to him after Robb had some. 

“We weren’t that close before all this… This fucking mess happened. Alyn was my guy, but you’ve really stuck by me and stepped up… You’re my Lord Commander now for god’s sake.”

“Which I’ll be eternally grateful.”

“Good to know.”

“You always were a good leader, you didn’t act aloof or nothing, but I think we have something in common… The North, we’re both from the North, but here in the South there is more opportunity. You can make something of yourself here.”

“Very honest of you.”

“Don’t get the chance for honesty much recently.”

“I suppose not… Yes that’s true the North is static. Very static. Unless you’re born a Lord or Lady there is little chance for honor nor advancement.”

“Exactly,” Cayn was getting very animated. “I was the fifth son of a blacksmith, getting into my lord’s son’s personal guard was most likely the best I could do in peacetime. No offence but I didn’t want that, I wanted more. I practiced everyday, everyday, everyday to become the best I could with a sword. Now its all come to me.”

“Lord Commander? Yes, what else could you want?” Robb asked rhetorically throwing the wineskin back.

“A keep, some lands, levies of my own,” he answered immediately. “But yes, it is more than I ever imagined I could get. Maybe a knighthood was the best I could expect. A small holdfast.”

“Well don’t let me down,” Robb told him standing up, sliding his weapons back into the sheathes and placing his crown back on.

“Oh I won’t, I will do anything to keep this position,” Cayn replied with steeled determination in his voice. Robb was glad he was on his side. “And do ANYTHING, for those who gave it to me.”

***

“We need a new master of whispers,” Margaery told Robb. “My grandmother has inherited Varys’ network but she’s too old to be in charge of such a heavy task.”

“I don’t really care,” Robb sighed rubbing his face with hands. “I have no idea who could fit that role…”

“I could do it informally until you decide?”

“If you like.”

“I understand it’s a difficult time so I’m happy to shoulder the burden in whatever small way I can,” Margaery came and stood behind Robb who was seated at his desk in their giant solar. He was grateful for her, and Cayn and the whole Tyrell family. Resting her hands on his shoulders she peered at the books and letters that were strewn out. 

“Let’s not think of it now eh?”

“Of course… No ravens from the West yet?”

“No. not yet, I’m not too worried. Watching the combined army leave… It never ended, just a column of men and steel winding out of the Crownlands.”

“The full power of the Reach…”

“Yes, true, I owe the Reach a lot, Highgarden a lot.”

“Oh no you don’t. It isn’t owed, we’re family. All family,” she slid her hands through the top of his tunic down to his stomach. “The realm is ours,” she whispered. “We just need Doran Martell to come here and bend the knee.”

“That can wait. What about the Redwyne navy; Lannisport needs to blockading.”

“True but that can wait a little, we have the afternoon free you know?” Margaery murmured running her fingertips through the band of his trousers. 

“We do?”

“Uh-huh,” she yanked up the hem of his tunic pulling it up over his head, “after you hid from governing.”

Robb went a bit red. “I was sharpening my sword, after such an important victory it makes sens…”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s fine,” Margaery linked her fingers with Robb’s and tugged him into standing up and following her to the bed. She lay back in front of him. 

He was still a bit distracted but not so distracted he couldn’t appreciate the beauty of his wife; lying there, looking up at him; wanting him. Robb started tugging down his trousers. Margaery lay there fully dressed watching him. Was a little awkward. As Robb went to grab her thigh she used her elbows to quickly scamper up the bed away from him. The mischief from her deep, brown, doe eyes spreading to her mouth, flickering upwards in amusement.

Robb climbed up onto the bed. Crawling up to her, holding onto her waist and stomach through her dress, kissing her lightly. While his hand wandered down between her legs, pushing his way through her skirts to find her small clothes. She bit down hard on his lip drawing blood as Robb tore her small clothes to side and brushed against her.

He growled internally at the pain, which only made her giggle playfully and smile widely at him as she finally let go of his lip.

Not wanting to play around he leaned up and grabbed her thighs pulling her down towards him; she arched her back as he yanked her down. Robb felt that same internal growl as he entered his wife and her nails found the muscle of his shoulders and pulled him back down, face to face.

Building up a rhythm they couldn’t kiss anymore, the pants and groans making it impossible. Robb grabbed under each of her legs and pushed them up so they were resting on his chest and he could go as deep as possible in her. Ramming back and forth until he was done, Robb collapsed next to her; breathing hard, trying to catch his breath.

“I have to go out quickly,” Margaery told him, kissing his sweaty cheek. “Be back soon.”

“I thought we had the afternoon free?” He teased running his hands up the inside of her thigh and digging his fingers into the tender skin.

“We do. Like I said; be back soon,” she took him in her hand and glided it up and down a few times. “So stay here; like this.”

Watching her fix her hair and leave Robb didn’t move. It wasn’t until after she left that he acknowledged to himself that, that didn’t feel right. They hadn’t clicked like they had before. It was more like when he had sex with Myrcella… His mind drifted back.

 

-T-

So the drawbridge of Casterly Rock was pulled up with a creak and a slam and the iron chains locked it in place. He couldn’t leave. Tyrion hated being confined. Not that he left much but the knowledge that he could leave was a freedom which was stolen away by Robb Stark and his sister. 

The banners came rumbling over the hills and fields of men who wished him and everyone around him dead all morning. The outriders were spotted from the high vantage points the Rock provided around dawn, who knew how long they were there in the dark. Then the dark long trail of spear tips and horses snaking back as far as the eye could see came in the light. 

Casterly Rock was unbreakable, it couldn’t be stormed, it couldn’t be taken. Could be starved eventually though. 

Presumably Robb Stark in his new crown, all full of piss and vinegar from his victory of the Great Lion of the Rock would offer some ludicrous terms to his father. They’d be rejected and the siege would begin. Stark wouldn’t be so stupid as engage in a direct assault, or if he was, his lords weren’t. 

“We’re in trouble eh?” Tyrion spoke without looking at his brother who joined him at his vantage point. 

“The situation couldn’t be worse.”

“We could be dead.”

“Death isn’t always the worst thing,” Jaime dismissed him.

“I disagree. There is always possibility with life.”

“Such as.”

“Well, I don’t have examples, but there is still always possibilities in life. If we’re dead it’s over.”

“Their navy hasn’t formed a blockade yet,” Jaime changed the subject. He didn’t like to overthink these things. Tyrion thought it a shame. 

“No, not the most competent enemy to be losing to,” Tyrion agreed. 

“Losing? Lost I would say.”

“You still have your sword by your hip.”

“And you have a wine glass… It isn’t even nine you know.”

“True but I didn’t sleep yet so this counts as drinking from last night.” 

“Look at that fucking banner,” Jaime pointed to the largest sigil Tyrion had ever seen being planted where the earthworks and circumvallate would be surely built. The banner itself was the Stark direwolf crowned with a rose underneath. Ha. That made him laugh, Robb Stark allowed Margaery Tyrell to imprint on his sigil as Cersei had with Robert. 

“It doesn’t feel real does it. There is the lower city between even us and them.”

“A sword in the stomach won’t kill us, nothing in the stomach will kill us,” Jaime snatched Tyrion’s glass and drained it. “I’m going.”

“No wait, don’t I have a plan you and father need to hear.”

“Well hurry up I’m taking my frustration out with angry walking.”

“Very mature.”

“Furious pacing.”

“I got the idea the first time.”

“Rage fuelled stroll.”

“Shut up Jaime, I’m the funny one, you’re the other one.”

***

“They won’t last ten years! That’s what our great leader says!” Cersei was storming off the handle as one might expect. Tyrion wasn’t happy that she had followed Jaime back into his solar to scream about where her actions had led them all. “After he lost to a child in battle he wants to out wait them?!”

“So it would seem.”

“No one is talking to you. Everything was going well in King’s Landing before you showed up!”

“Oh if I wasn’t there Joffrey would be on the throne?”

“Yes!”

She was delusional, or at least hysterical.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to berate people,” Tyrion told her. Sick of her completely. “You fucked everything up. You couldn’t drink some moon tea after you,” he motioned between his siblings, “two have some brotherly-sisterly time. Then just raise one of Robert’s children?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?! We’re defeated, locked in our castle, away from power, you’re not the Queen anymore, that dishonor belongs to Margaery Tyrell.”

“Don’t you dare,” Cersei started to march towards him in a rage but Jaime snagged her arm.

“Stop it Cersei, just stop.”

“You too?”

“This shouting and anger; I’m sick of it. It’s gotten us nowhere. This is our fault. Ultimately it is,” Jaime lowered his voice, “Tyrion is right. We’ve gotten away with this all things considered. Just acting with rage and blood hasn’t worked has it? So maybe its time for some introspection.”

“Gotten away…” Cersei’s eyes were bugging out. “When the trebuchets start hurling rocks into our home I’ll thank the gods for how blessed I am.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Fuck you, and fuck you too Jaime.”

The door slammed so hard it swung back open. 

“That went well,” Tyrion said when he was sure Cersei was gone and wasn’t going to rush back in to hit him with her angry hornet hands. 

“You were right with what you said to father,” Jaime told him. “Who knew you’d be the favorite child?”

“It only took the near destruction of our house for father to finally realize I have something more to offer than just drunkenness and whoring.”

“Maybe I should start drinking and find some girls and let you lead the armies.”

“Even a whore would be offended when you drunkenly mumble Cersei into their ear.”

Tyrion ducked as a book was flung at him. 

***

No terms had been offered. No meeting offered. There was not one word from the sieging army. It made the siege even more oppressive, having silence returned from the churning mass of men. The faceless body with no mouth. That was strange. This wasn’t what was meant to happen in sieges. 

The last of the ravens had flown. Now any would be shot down. Two silent forces facing each other.

Still he had plans, plans his father and Uncle were refining and needed to act quickly on before the last part of the sieging force locked them up for the rest of his life. 

-M-

“Your grace,” a rap came against the door. 

“Enter.” A couple of nameless Gold Cloaks came into the room she had taken as an office, working in her own small way to make Westeros great again. Having to write a quick instruction Margaery wanted to rush back to Robb. Things hadn’t been quite the same between them since he returned from battle and she was determined to rekindle whatever might have been extinguished or lost. 

“We found Arya Stark.”

“Found her…”

“She’s been missing two days.”

“Of course, thank goodness,” Margaery lied, taking it in stride and pretending she knew that. “Where is she?”

“She was injured your grace, a maester is tending her. She was brought in by a man.”

“Give him a reward and see him off.”

“Erm, that’s the thing your grace, he was acting suspiciously, he clearly wanted to leave with no reward and refused to give his name so we arrested him.”

“You arrested him eh?” Margaery finished off her note and sealed it. “Give this to your commander.”

“Yes your grace.”

“I’ll meet with this man.”

“Would you like an escort?”

“No, Ser Cayn can handle that.”

Margaery left the office and motioned Cayn, who was standing guard followed her silently. She liked having the company of a man who would kill without question for her on any whim she might have. Not that she was like that, but it was nice to have that power. 

They went down into the cells. They were pretty empty. She had thought it was best not to leave too many political prisoners. Dead men started no insurrections and had no voice to spread discontent. 

The gaoler was tripping over himself to help, having never seen a Queen.

“You’re the man who brought my good-sister back?” Margaery asked without an introduction as she swept into the cell with Cayn standing slightly in front of her. The man was old, not decrepit nor infirm but certainly unkempt. He looked really familiar. She couldn’t place where she knew him from. 

“Yes I am.”

“Address the Queen as your grace,” Cayn barked.

“No, no I don’t think I will.”

“You dare!”

“Cayn! Stop, I’ll deal with this.”

“As you say your grace, sorry your grace,” he nodded and froze as the silent vigil she needed him to be. 

“Why don’t you want to address me properly?” She asked softly. 

“Because you shouldn’t be Queen.”

“Who should Cersei?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“If I told you that, you’d know who I am.”

“You’re nobody.”

“That’s the truth. Always have been.”

“I recognize you, don’t know where from but I do. If I vaguely do I’m sure I could have you identified.”

“I brought Arya Stark safe back, don’t see why I should be punished for that.”

“For that? No you shouldn’t be. You’re not a knight, or a lord, or you wouldn’t talk like a pleb.”

“I am a knight,” the old man made brief eye contact, his eyes blazing temporarily with pride and anger.

“You are… Are you going to just tell us? You clearly aren’t a good actor. If you were you would have got a bag of gold and silver for rescuing a princess and be on your merry way,” Margaery out manoeuvred him. “You must have acted very suspiciously for the dolts in the Gold Cloaks to catch you out.”

He just shrugged and looked down at the floor. 

“You want to answer me.”

Still nothing. 

“No? Very well,” Margaery left the cell, “Cayn, kill him would you?” In the blink of an eye the new Lord Commander drew his sword. The old man stood up and put his hands out to block the blade but it pushed through the palms of both his hands and up into his chest and out his back. “Oh! I remember you! You were Stannis’ man right?” She pointed at him the blade through him still. He opened his mouth and blood leaked out as the life left his eyes. “Stannis’ man,” she nodded as the sword was withdrawn and he fell to the ground. “Forgetful old me.” Cayn laughed at her weak joke. 

“Is everythin’ right your grace?!” the gaoler had rushed over and was peering around her to see the dead body in the cell. 

“It is, yes, good job, have the afternoon off,” she smiled at him and tossed a gold coin for him to catch. “Cayn, have someone identify the carcass and then throw it out for the crabs to eat.”

“Yes your grace. Don’t worry mate I got this,” Cayn sent the gaoler off as Margaery walked happily back to her duties. Then back to Robb. She ached a bit between her legs thinking of him waiting for her. 

In the halls of the Red Keep corridors someone yanked on her sleeve. Her sleeve. She was about to find out who had just signed their death warrant only see Arya. Fuck sake. Her good-sister was doing a great job of becoming the most annoying person in Westeros.

“What happened to Davos?!”

“Sorry?” Margaery fixed her face into the smiling, pretending to be interested mask she had developed since adopting the mantle of Queen. 

“What. Happened. To. Fucking. Davos?”

“Who is that?”

“He brought me back here and I guaranteed his safety and your thugs took him off!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, you don’t get to bring a princess back without some suspicion,” she lied calmly smiling pleasantly at the annoying little meddler. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“And guess what?” Margaery leaned down to Arya’s height and put her mouth right by her ear to whisper. “I don’t give two shits what you think about anything you little pest. Sooner rather than later you’ll be shipped off to that frozen wasteland you hail from and married off to some Umber or Karstark or some other who gives a shit house and I’ll forget about you completely while your husband beats you into behaving.” Margaery rose back up to her full height again and smiled widely at Arya. “Always lovely seeing dear sister,” she spoke normally again and patted Arya’s cheek.

“I won’t forget this,” she called after Margaery.

Margaery turned, they were several feet away from each other now. “Who cares?” 

 

-Myr-

Finally she had found a place she could be by herself. Alone in the godswood. The only other person who would come here was Robb and he was busy with his new wife. 

It was peaceful yet the old trees resonated with a power she couldn’t understand but could certainly feel. 

All of her reflections and all of her thoughts had brought her nothing so far. She had no plan on how to get out of this. How to do something. Fight back in someway. 

Casterly Rock was apparently under siege. With them gone who was there for her? No one. Where could see go? No where. Who could aid or shelter her? The same answer. 

Revenge was all she could hope for. What revenge though? That was the point of coming to the godswood, to try to work this stuff out. She wasn’t a nasty person, nor a cunning one. Did it come naturally to Margaery Tyrell or did the crown force someone to become like that? 

Myrcella didn’t know what to do. She did know she hated Margaery Tyrell and to a lesser extent Robb and owed them both payback.

 

-A-

Margaery Tyrell. 

Margaery fucking Tyrell.

Fuck her. Fuck her fat father, her perverted brother, her stupid smile. Just fuck her. Awful bitch.

There was no one in the gaol as Arya snuck downwards into the cells. She was expecting having to do some sneaking and some clever subterfuge to get there. The gaoler was just gone though. It seemed like Margaery wasn’t the prisoner taking type. More pretending to be horrified while secretly gleeful at the execution type. 

“Davos?!” she tried calling when Arya was positive she was alone. “Davos?!” Nothing. “It’s me; Arya. Davos?!”

She was too short to look into the small viewing slots of the cells, jumping once or twice made her feel like a ridiculous child. Giving up and about to leave Arya spotted something. Blood. Of course it was blood. A bootprint it looked like, someone had stepped in blood and then left the cells. Poor Davos. She slumped down to the floor and rested her back on the cell door. It must be his. She promised him safety…

A good old man, who had his life ruined by Margaery Tyrell and still was trying to be a good man and do the right thing despite all the pain visited on him. Then how did it all end? Murdered by the murderer who murdered his Queen and was wearing her blood stained crown.

This was a step too far.

She wasn’t going to sit in his blood and cry, wiping away angry tears and picking herself up Arya marched with determination to her brother. It was time to see if he was still Robb Stark. Or if he was Robb Tyrell. 

***

“Come.”

She pushed open the royal solar to find her brother clearly just putting his clothes back on. He had probably been waiting for his wife; obsessed with the carnal instead of with duty. 

“Arya? What’s wrong?”

“Do you know Davos Seaworth?” she asked, marching right up into the King’s personal space. He was the King, he wasn’t her brother right now… Or at all.

“Erm, yes, I think the name rings a bell. He worked for Stannis didn’t he?”

“Yes he did.”

“I remember he led the sellswords when we fought the Lannisters here. Good sort of man.”

“Well he died in a cell beneath the Red Keep.”

“Sorry?”

“He died. In a cell. Beneath the Red Keep.”

“How?”

“I don’t know I didn’t see the body.”

“Then do you know he has died? And how do you know him in the first place and why do you care?” Robb surveyed her with bored eyes. He clearly didn’t want to spend time with his old family, was far too enamored with pouty, beautiful new family. Rotten as they were. 

“He helped me when I was missing.”

“You were missing?”

“How can you be a good King when you’re a shitty brother?” Arya accused him, poking him hard in the chest. “Huh?”

“A lot is happening Arya. A lot,” Robb was getting angry in return. “You should be able to behave yourself and realize the consequences of your actions not need constant babysitting.”

“Fuck you, maybe Robert Baratheon should have babysat you and you wouldn’t have turned into such an egomaniac.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

“Or what? You’ll kill your sister the way you have everyone else killed.”

“Every man I’ve killed has been holding a weapon,” Robb shot back.

“With your own hands but blood seeps.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“You didn’t just bite the hand which fed you Robb you chewed it off at the fucking wrist!” Arya shoved her brother as hard as she could knocking him onto his arse. She stormed out with more energy than she stormed in with. Rushing into an alcove to weep furiously in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter-sorry-about-that. Just need to move things into the position I need for everything to start happening at once.  
> MWGA


	23. -2-3-

-Myr-

It felt wrong to pray to the heart tree. They weren’t for her. Already an intruder in their sanctuary it would be disrespectful for her to intrude on the Old God’s favor too. Not that she wanted to pray. Religion had never been too important in her upbringing. The heart tree was too intense. It was beyond her. Instead Myrcella preferred to sit by the wall enclosing the open space overlooking the Blackwater Rush.

Had Robb come here to meditate on his sins? When he was cheating on her did he come here to ask forgiveness or guidance? Or didn’t he care? Maybe somewhere in between; guilty but not willing to change. 

Whether he did or didn’t shouldn’t matter Myrcella chastised herself. The whole plotting of a nebulous revenge plan shouldn’t begin with empathy for one of the two people who had wronged her so. She still wasn’t sure whether Robb had… Oh nonsense, she kept trying to be good hearted and give people the benefit of the doubt. No one gave her that. No one tried to see the best in her and treat her well and she had ended up as an ex-princess without a title. Though most ex-princesses didn’t get to keep their heads… Why were things so difficult. 

“Who are you?!”

“AH!” Myrcella cried and jumped on the spot.

“Oh Myrcella right?” A scruffy looking girl called to her from the heart tree.

“Yes… You look very familiar… Sorry if I forgot you,” she approached the other girl slowly and cautiously.

“I used to be your good-sister.”

“Arya or Sansa? Must be Arya right?”

She just nodded without turning her head away from the heart tree. 

“What are you doing here?” Myrcella tried. She couldn’t let Robb’s sister think she was acting suspiciously unless she went to him or to Margaery. 

“Praying… Well I was going to. Actually why are you here?! These are my gods.”

“Do you think there are gods?”

“Who knows,” she shrugged. “My father sure thinks so, as does my mother; but they believe two different things. Either one is true and one false or they’re both false. It’s just sanctuary in this horrible city.”

“Precisely.”

“So you’re trying to think huh? Makes sense,” Arya nodded sitting in the branches at the foot of the heart tree. “Margaery Tyrell?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you thinking about Margaery Tyrell?”

“Why would I?”

“Because she’s an evil bitch who ruined your life?”

“She’s our Queen,” Myrcella replied carefully. Part of her wanted to run and jump and embrace the other girl for saying such a thing. Yet that would be old stupid Myrcella. Who presumed people meant what they said. Daggers hidden in smiles. Remember that she told herself. 

“How wondrous. People love a liar, it’s a Southron trait, best believe the fantasy of the lies than the harshness of reality.”

“What has she lied about?” Myrcella tried to sound disinterested. Not desperate for tid-bits. She bit her tongue from saying Robb Stark promised to love and be with her forever in the eyes of gods and men. That was a lie. He definitely wasn’t from the South. 

“What hasn’t she lied about,” Arya kicked a rock angrily and shot her toe a pained look. She didn’t let on. This girl was her opposite. “Fucking murderer.”

“Who did she murder?”

“Shireen Baratheon, Gendry, Davos and who knows whoelse. These are just the people I know. I’m sure there is a mountain of corpses she is sitting on to make herself seem grander. My idiot brother sits on a throne of rusted swords, she sits a little higher on bones and blood.”

“I only know one of those names.”

“Gendry was one of King Robert’s bastards. Lucky for you.”

“How so?”

“Well you’re one of the Queen’s bastards, they have no way to claim the throne.”

She said it so matter of factly. The Queen’s bastard. Margaery had called her Myrcella Hill. Myrcella Rivers but that was the first time she visited when she was cruel and taunting her. Before she morphed into an even more sinister person. 

“So I wouldn’t worry,” Arya added a little more softly. 

“I’m just an afterthought.”

“Same.”

“You’re a princess now.”

“Oh fuck that,” the anger returned Arya who at last tore her eyes away from the heart tree. “I’m not. I don’t even want to be a lady.”

“All I wanted to have a pleasant life, a calm peaceful life…”

“Tough.”

“So it would seem.”

“Look I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Myrcella tensed up expecting some horrible revelation.

“Being angry. I’m not angry with you.”

“No?”

“No. I’m angry with our new murdering Queen. I’m angry with my thick headed brother. I’m… I’m just angry. Then listen to me going on about how much my life is terrible to you of all people.”

“I don’t need pity.”

“I wasn’t pitying you. Just pointing stuff out. No offence but you don’t deserve pity. You lived the life of a princess for a while. Have you been to Flea Bottom?”

“No.”

“Nevermind. I don’t want to make enemies with you. Everyone here already hates me,” the passion left Arya’s voice and she looked down at grass pushing her hair back. 

“We have a lot in common then it would seem.”

 

-M-

“Stop fretting.”

“No.”

“You worry too much about things,” she soothed her husband. Lying in bed with her head resting on his chest. “You’re doing amazing. Everything is amazing. We’ve carved out the base to build a dynasty on top of.”

“I’m not scared. Fretting is the right word. Not a particularly masculine or regal one I admit but it’s just fretting,” Robb told her. “It’s my mother for fucks sake.”

“You knew you’d have to see her eventually.”

If Margaery was being honest with herself she was a little nervous to meet Catelyn Stark. Her good-mother… Whereas her own mother had returned to Highgarden with Loras to avoid the war. It was the shock of the news, just an unannounced visit from Riverrun. If she hadn’t taken over the role of mistress of whispers then she might not have found out until too late.

“It’ll be fine.”

“True, it’s just disapproval I don’t want.”

“Who wouldn’t want a King for a son?” Margaery asked genuinely confused by the Starks. Robb was an aberration it would seem. They ran from power and influence. Who did that? The Stark-Tyrell alliance was one of the strongest the realm had ever seen. Yet that bore Eddard Stark looked at his son as dishonorable. His wife would surely be the same sort of terrible dullard, going on and on, gratingly about honor this and duty that. It was just tedious. 

“Eddard Stark the Warden of the North,” Robb drawled sarcastically. 

“Shouldn’t a father want for his son to do better than him? To give him the tools to build on what his father gave him?”

“Exactly! I’m so glad I met you,” Robb mumbled softly.

“And I you,” Margaery smiled her first genuine smile in a while. “I think… Actually nevermind,” she baited Robb, pretending she didn’t want to say something she desperately wanted to say.

“What?”

“No, I shouldn’t it isn’t my place.

“You can say anything to me, it is always your place to give me counsel.”

“Well, if you insist, it reflects poorly on your father not on you that he reacted so poorly to your monumental success,” she said slowly as if she was anxious to say so. As opposed to desperate to lay some seeds of discord. It wasn’t that Margaery wanted to hurt Robb in anyway. She never wanted to do that. She loved her husband deeply, just his family were being a nuisance. They’re soldiers were useful, their advice was not. 

Robb remained silent for a while and she felt true anxiety waiting to see how he would react. 

“There’s a lot of truth to that Margaery, thank you for saying that.”

***

“You know… My brother knows the Stormlands very well.”

“Loras? I could imagine.”

“No, no, no, Garlan. He knows the land well, he has competed in tourneys all over the Stormlands and would make a terrific Lord Paramount until a suitable replacement is found.”

“That’s fine,” Robb agreed, he clearly hated the small council. She remembered when they had just begun their trysts how much he loathed attending them. Margaery however, as the ‘temporary,’ mistress of whispers was delighted to be in the inner sanctum of ruling the realm. “We need a new grand maester, I’ve written to the Citadel. On your suggest I’ve requested Maester Gormon is it?”

“Yes, my father’s Uncle, a good man,” Margaery nodded. 

“Excellent well I’ve suggested him for the position, erm, we can’t really do too much without half of a council here,” Robb gestured to the empty chairs. It was just him, her and Cayn. He clearly didn’t like governing with no council. Margaery was in the opposite mind. Power was concentrated directly to them. To her and Robb. Ruling unabated.

“Oh! Oh, sorry I forgot,” Cayn leapt on the spot in his seat. “I was given this by one of the people in the raven tower.” He brandished a scrap of paper.

“What does it say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you read Cayn?” Robb asked.

“No your grace.”

“Well, perhaps you should learn in your free time.”

“Yes your grace.”

Robb took the note and scanned through it. 

“The siege lines have been prepared, the trebuchets are being built from Westerland wood. It won’t do much though will it? The Rock is built out of a mountain, we can’t bring that down.”

“Could poison them,” Cayn added.

“Sorry?”

“Have them hurl rotten cow corpses into the city and spread disease.”

“My father wouldn’t allow that.”

“Randyll Tarly will,” Margaery added, it was a good idea, why not? The Lannisters wouldn’t hesitate to do the same and much worse to them. “If you wished it that is,” she added diplomatically. 

“I don’t know about that… Poison is the weapons of cowards.”

“They poisoned Robert Baratheon. They poisoned Renly Baratheon,” Margaery state flatly. 

“They did, that’s true,” Robb agreed slowly biting his lip as he looked at her, considering her words. “Alright, alright, send word to Lord Tarly.”

“Can I word the letter then?”

“Of course I trust you completely. Now we’re done right?”

“I think so.”

“No whispers?” Robb smirked at her. 

“No,” she returned the smile and leaned over the table to kiss him briefly though was a little annoyed he would find her role amusing. “Not really. Rumblings of the Targaryen girl over the sea.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“No… Me neither,” Margaery lied. 

 

***

“The scribes made several mistakes in the letters they were supposed to copy on my direction. So have their thumbs and fingers cuts off. Do you know of Edric Storm?”

“No,” Cayn scrunched up his face trying to think, now it was just the two of them. He was so stupid, Margaery appraised him, the exact sort of imbecile who was good with a sword she and Robb needed. 

“He’s Robert Baratheon’s only recognized bastard, he lives at Storm’s End, I was thinking of inviting him here and offering him to be trained as a squire and then a knight.”

“Very generous of you, your grace.”

“No, it really isn’t. That is a ruse,” Margaery scowled at the Lord Commander for not cottoning on. “I want him to come out of hiding.”

“Oh, I see, yes.”

“So have you recruited a handful of knifemen?” She asked, he nodded eagerly, “good have them greet him on the road. Make it look like thievery.”

“Of course.

“Your grace!” She snapped. “You have to remember my title Ser.”

“Sorry, yes, of course, yes, your grace.”

“Get,” she motioned with her head and he rushed off. Sitting at her desk she pulled out pen and paper and started to write a flowery and pleasant invitation to that bastard fucker. Strutting around Storm’s End… It made her a little angry. 

 

-T-

The blockade came, late. Apparently there were some fears from the Tyrells of the Ironborn reaving down the Shield Islands. That break which made the siege and the blockade not happen simultaneously had given House Lannister a sliver of a chance. 

The biggest problem Tyrion had currently was the fact he was forced into being an actor in his plan. It made no sense. He couldn’t keep up with the soldiers on foot and would just be a burden. 

Around three hundred of the most battle hardened men who survived the loss at the Trident accompanied Tyrion and Jaime out in the dead of night in several small, inconspicuous boats. Dropping them not far down the Southern coast in the forest between Tarbeck Hall and Crakehall. The boats were set adrift and they scattered deep into the forest, disappearing. 

“No fires,” Jaime told the commanders, “no noise. We regroup at ford below Silverhill in two days.”

***

“I could carry you.”

“Definitely not!” Tyrion managed to get out between deep sucking breathes. He was beat by the midnight march and just fell face first into the ground. “Can we sleep now.”

“No, sorry,” Jaime snagged his arm and pulled him up to his feet. “We have to keep going. This is your plan.”

“It is, but… I shouldn’t be here!”

“No but don’t let any of the men hear you say that, now get to your feet and put one in front of the other. You can’t be seen to be weak in front of these men. You don’t even have to carry your own equipment.”

“Neither do you,” Tyrion mumbled, “I need rest.”

“Rest when you’re dead.”

Tyrion just grumbled and forced himself into motion again. 

***

The tiny portion of rabbit and stale bread may have been the nicest meal he had ever eaten. He was the only person who was in any discomfort. 298 of the Westerland’s finest killers. One legendary knight and the Imp… 

His knees and ankles cracked loudly when he stood up and trudged forward as his brother forced everyone back to their feet. 

Tyrion was glad for battle now. Nothing would hurt if he was dead. He was getting the shakes from stopping his daily drinking for the first time since he had become an adult. So when he caught up with the rushing men he was marching with into a cargo caravan of supplies for the Stark lines with an axe brandished it didn’t feel like it was really happening.

It was over before he really knew what was happening, his weapon fresh and unused. Men wearing the green of House Tyrell were littered around. He couldn’t see any of his men, who were wearing no colors and lightweight leather armor. Many of the workers who weren’t in the military, tasked with driving the carts and wagons were dead too. Not spared like he ordered. 

Tyrion felt his stomach turning at the dismembered bodies and dead lifeless eyes. Retreating under the wheel of a wagon he puked on the floor. 

“Here,” Jaime found him and shoved a clay pot in his hand. 

Tyrion just held it in shock looking up at his brother, not really connecting with reality yet. The haze of his tiredness, withdrawals and shock of conflict hadn’t cleared thin enough for him to truly attach to what was happening. 

“It’s wine,” Jaime told him, wiping the blood from his sword. “I think for boiling and pouring in wounds, so it probably won’t taste too nice.”

“Thanks.”

“Come on we have to move again.”

Tyrion just grumbled and allowed his brother to push him into movement again back into the obscuration of the forests and hills of the Westerlands. He was faintly aware of the fresh fires lapping around the wagons, burning away the Stark supplies. 

***

“How do we even know if we’re doing any good,” Tyrion spat out the mud and grit in the stream water he was drinking. 

“We don’t.”

“What if…”

“Tyrion, stop. You can’t keep complaining to me about everything.”

“But I want to,” he whined petulantly.

“Would you rather be locked up in Casterly Rock. Hearing rocks from trebuchets pounding into the lower ring of the city day in and day out?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, oh right, I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“So no further advice?”

“Stop complaining. Soldiers don’t complain.”

“I’m not a soldier.”

“You are now.”

He just grumbled again, trying to choke down the now rock hard bread. Archers from Sarsfield had joined them, bolstering their ranks to around 400 men. Nothing compared to the thousands and thousands that sat outside the walls of his home; they weren’t going to be recapturing any castles any time soon.

“Gregor Clegane would have been good at this stuff,” Tyrion said as he surveyed their men.

“The Mountain is hardly the stealthiest of men.”

“Was. He and that dunce Loch also made it impossible for us to find an alliance with the one House left.”

 

-Myr-

Myrcella was proud of herself. She managed to not give in her desire to talk honestly with Arya Stark. Despite the fact the other girl poured her heart out. She had learned not to trust so easily. Though in her heart; she felt that Arya was being serious and wasn’t trying to trick her. 

The hatred Robb’s sister had for Margaery Tyrell was a thing she was envious of. Myrcella couldn’t find the fire and hatred in herself, just wasn’t capable of such passionate emotion. Trying to fight her nature and force the mold she had been raised in to be into a malleable form which she could manipulate into what she wanted to be was fruitless. 

So far her big payback plan had been her stealing a knife and hiding it in between her mattress and bed frame. It just depressed her. A small pathetic scrap of metal, in her dainty hands, it felt alien and she felt ridiculous when she tried to practice a stabbing motion. Like a deer trying to walk on a frozen lake. Just an uncoordinated mess. 

Really there was nothing.

The only inkling of a strategy, the only hint of a weapon she had her side made her skin crawl with embarrassment just thinking about. If only she had the guts, the stones that Arya did. 

***

“It has been so pleasant dining with you, it shows good, erm, shall we say unity,” Margaery smiled. These peculiar meals with the two of them in her oversized, pretentious office were sickening. Where the Queen would smirk and pretend to care about her and talk about how wonderful things were and would be. That nasty superiority flashing in the brown of her eyes constantly. “You and I dining, despite all our problems. Maybe we’ll dine with Tywin Lannister one day.”

“I truly doubt that,” Myrcella said making brief eye contact at those evil chips of amber flint.

“No, unfortunately some most pass for the realm to move on and get better.”

“As you say.”

“I do. I’m just glad I won’t have to see all that horror and violence. Just the knowledge those who wish to disrupt the realm are gone is good enough,” Margaery continued as if she was imparting some sage wisdom. “Can you imagine having to see the dead body? It would be horrify me.” That was a lie.

“I can’t say I would feel the same, I’d rather like to see my enemies dead,” Myrcella said defiantly staring at Margaery. Her fixed smile didn’t falter but something flashed in her eyes. Something vicious.

“No? Well diverse opinions always bring out the best in all of us,” the Queen said coldly. What was she even talking about?! “I think it maybe time for you to return to your chamber. CAYN!”

After thanking Margaery for dinner and having her kiss both of her cheeks, she swallowed the shiver of weakness she still experienced from the other woman’s touch. 

Myrcella had to wait outside for a moment while Margaery spoke briefly to Cayn. The new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was a nasty man. Just a jumped up knifeman. No Barristan Selmy. 

He walked her silently back to her chamber, opened the door for her but blocked her way with his steel clad arm.

“Ser may I…” She started but spluttered and coughed as a mail fisted struck her in the gut doubling her over. Yellow and orange spots exploded over her vision and she felt woozy as the ground span under her vision making her sick. 

“Get in here,” the rough voice of Cayn spat at her as he kicked her in through the door. “Watch your mouth wit’ the Queen you prissy little cunt.”

Myrcella crawled a little, vomited then rolled onto her back as blackness overtook her. 

***

She had never been more glad to have no mirror. Her stomach was bruising already. Never had she felt more like a prisoner. The first time violence was used against her. Margaery Tyrell truly wished she was a pet didn’t she? For whatever plan she had. If she even had one. All smiles and kisses and linked armed walks but one slight from Myrcella to the Queen and her thug brutalizes her. 

Margaery would pay. She was Myrcella’s enemy and she finally did something which sparked her to act back. Not just play silly mind games where she envisioned some perfect payback which was nothing but a nebulous dream blanket which was an unformed haze of comfort she blanketed herself with in a tumultuous time. Something needed to be done. 

That steel fist.

That steel fist, was enough to push her past through her awkwardness. Action was needed.

 

-T-

Waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, in the depth of the dark, waiting with baited breath, terror and anticipation mingled into a rare excitement. Tyrion held his axe tight in his hand. Finally their disruptions had forced the Stark-Tyrell coalition to send men out from their siege to kill them. Little did they know. 

This was the Westerlands.

This was their land and they knew it better. Never before had Tyrion felt that hardening of his soul where anger and grit and determination took over from sense and reason. Everything Tyrion prided himself on, his wits and intelligence, were forgotten. The putrid wine he had drunk like water giving him false confidence. 

The torches held by the riders appeared in the dark descending into the trap set for them.

Wagons laid out, meant for the siegers, were surrounded by men on horses carrying far too many torches. Expecting to meet their harassers instead they found empty wagons with strawmen posing as soldiers.

Jaime was ahead of Tyrion and he couldn’t see the signal he must have given in the dark but he certainly saw the flaming arrow take flight and almost calmly and lazily rise and fall.

The pitch in the wagons exploded, burning oil lighting up the night in long yellow and orange streamers. Without the screams and the frightened brays of the horses it would have been a rather beautiful sight.

The whoosh of arrows taking flight erupted all around his ears, pouring further death onto the scouting force. More and more barrages of arrows rose and fell, invisible in the dark but the screams and cries showed they were hitting their mark. 

“ATTACK!” Jaime’s distinct voice broke over the noise and chaos and the stamping of feet followed streaming down out of the protective wooded area down into their trap.

Tyrion arrived later than anyone else, unable to keep up on foot. The fighting already fierce when he got to the caravan. The Lannister men were vicious, cutting down Stark and Tyrell soldiers who weren’t burnt or struck by projectiles. Everyone pretty much ignored him as he ran under eye level usually trying to find a purpose. 

He found Jaime, his long blonde hair easy to find in the orange glow of the pyrotechnics. Fighting three men at once. At last seeing his opportunity to contribute Tyrion moved as fast as he could and took one of his brother’s opponent’s leg off at the knee, bringing his axe down into the screaming man’s chest. That wasn’t so bad. 

Jaime polished off what remained of his two attackers and surveyed the situation.

“Looks like we won,” he smirked at Tyrion.

“No lords of note here.”

“No.”

“So we didn’t really win anything,” Tyrion replied bitterly, sucking in breath, desperately trying to stop his head pounding. The plan was to lure, trap and capture someone of importance. To actually hurt their enemies. 

“Back to our camp!” Jaime ordered sheathing his sword. They all left the scene of the devastation. Everyone but Jaime and Tyrion were ecstatic with their spoils and victory. “Next time,” Jaime patted Tyrion’s shoulder, before jogging off to lead the retreat. 

His first kill. 

Didn’t really feel anything he reflected as he moved his body to follow the others, reserving himself to the fact he’d arrive back last. Exhausted as the red mist from battle evaporated.

-A-

“No,” she returned the smile though was a little annoyed he would find her role amusing. “Not really. Rumblings of the Targaryen girl over the sea.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“No… Me neither,” Margaery lied. 

The three of them got up and left the small council chamber and after counting to thirty Arya climbed out of the trunk in the corner of the room which was filled with maps. Was her brother an idiot? Or just so blindly trusting of his wife that he would let her hand every shred of power to members of her family. In one fell swoop they would control the biggest kingdom, the Stormlands, the representation of the faith and probably Hand of the King. Did House Baratheon have a third of that power? Truly? Robert did what he wanted but that was mostly indulge on a purely personal level while Jon Arryn struggled to keep a delicate balance of power. Poor man managed it for seventeen long years. They had to be up to no good. Margaery Tyrell was clearly willing to go to some grisly lengths just strengthen her position. Why would they seek so much control if not to misuse it? 

The table where the three of them sat had some letters on but none of importance. It was even scarier than having a council full of Reachmen, having a council with her love struck brother, a sycophantic thug and a scheming bitch. Mistress of whispers… There was something sinister in the title itself. A whisper was a private and intimate thing and Margaery wished to know them all and steal that moment of secrets away from everyone she could. 

Almost a thought crime. 

... the thought of it sent a vile chill of numb terror up Arya’s back, the heat extinguished inside her lungs. 

Lashing out in anger to rid herself of the ill she kicked over Margaery’s chair. “Fuck you,” she swore partially at the chair, imagining it occupied, half in pain from her foot. 

A sliver of white appeared in between the base of the fallen chair and the armrest. Retrieving it, Arya found a letter wrapped in a thin green ribbon with the signet royal seal tying the bow. A letter which on the surface of it was an elegant and almost poetic invitation to King’s Landing for the funeral of Robert Baratheon addressed to the former King’s bastard son. 

Sending knifemen out into the streets to kill anyone who may have any relation to him, even Gendry, didn’t sate her bloodlust now she wished… No, Arya thought very determinedly to herself… She was going to do something. 

Finding a scrap of paper and a quill she quickly penned a note.

Edric I have intercepted this letter before it flew.  
Margaery wishes you dead.  
Beware of coming here.  
A Friend

Rolling up her scrap she pushed it into the the middle of the scroll and pinched it together so she slid the ribbon back down. 

Rushing out the room she flew down the spiral staircase rushing over to the other side of the castle to the ravenry. As she crossed the courtyard outside she broke her pace as she saw Cayn but he saw her run then stop. Being suspicious enough to make him bother her. More haste less speed her mother had always taught her.

“What you up to young lady?” He asked eyeing her.

“Going to the kitchens.”

“And what’s that?” He pointed to the scroll she was stupidly holding in her hand. 

“A recipe.”

“A recipe?”

“Yes, I wanted lemon cakes and I wrote down how Old Nan made them back home. Want to read it?”

“No, no that’s fine, carry on.”

Arya kept going picking up her pace the further she got from Cayn. It wasn’t that big of a deal, trying to stop Margaery from getting something small she wanted. She still would be Queen, still would be stacking the deck with green cards but one thing she desired Arya would take away. Because fuck her. Fuck her and fuck Cayn that’s why.

***

“Arya!” 

As soon as she heard the voice all of her energy from the act of defiance left her. 

“Yes, your grace,” Arya tried her hardest to pack her voice with sarcasm. She considered doing a fake bow but that didn’t really suit her anger.

“Your mother will be arriving tomorrow.”

“She will?! Why wasn’t I told?” Arya had the wind taken from her sails. She wanted to see her mother, some safety and comfort in this horrid place. 

“Because you don’t matter,” Margaery scowled and rolled her eyes as if it were a stupid question. She went to leave but paused as Arya stopped in front of her stopping her way.

“My mother will hate you.”

“Your mother raised you. Who cares what a terrible mother like her thinks?” Margaery smirked. “If you’re the product she must be an atrocious manufacturer.”

“How dare you!” Arya went to grab Margaery’s sleeve to stop her leaving, but the Queen moved out the way and backhanded her hard across the face.

“Don’t touch me with your dirty little meddling hands,” Margaery spat with fury. They paused, both, each of them for a moment, before Margaery struck her hard again. “Remember that.”

Oh I will - Arya thought bitterly. The ring her brother had given his wife left a bloody mark on her face. 

 

-Myr-

How long had it been? She didn’t know, waiting in the corridors of the Red Keep rocking back and forth on the ball and the heel of her feet. Ready to spring into motion and pretend she was mid-step not rocking back and forth like a lunatic. 

A few people, just servants or guardsmen walked by and Myrcella awkwardly pretended she was checking the wall for some reason. Yes, that brickwork is… Brickwork. 

Myrcella had no idea how long she waited, it could have been two hours could have been ten minutes with the way time dragged.

When her target; the King, at long last came down the corridor at the other end, she rocked on her feet to look like he caught her walking, not waiting. She caught his eye and shot him what she hoped was a sad, soft smile. She’d never been an actor, just had to hope she was convincing. Enough for him to follow her into what was his religious grounds.

“Myrcella?” Robb’s voice called out in the Godswood. She just waited. “Myrcella?” She was standing by the wall which overlooked the Blackwater Rush. “My… Oh there you are. What are you doing here?”

“Nothing really,” she replied, forcing herself to stare out at the Blackwater and not check to see if Robb was acting as she wished him to.

“Nothing?” He arrived next to her. 

“No,” Myrcella finally looked at him, smiling sadly (she hoped) again. “I have nothing to do. So everything I do is nothing.”

“Very profound.”

“I try,” she faked a laugh. “Just trying to occupy my time.”

“Praying to the Old Gods?”

“No, no, I don’t feel right doing that, I just like it here. The horror of the city and real life evaporates as I enter this place… Not horror I didn’t mea…” She drifted off pretending that mistake wasn’t made on purpose.

“Horror huh? I used to feel this place was a horror.”

“Used to?”

“Yes, used to… Though now if you’re feeling it is a horror…”

“I misspoke.”

“I’m not sure you did… If someone who lives where I’m charge is living a horror then that’s my fault.”

“I don’t blame you Robb.”

“No? I know you said that before but… I don’t know, it would seem logical if you did.”

“I want to, I really do. I want to hate you.”

“Then why don’t you?” He asked her softly. 

“Because… Beca…” Myrcella trailed off shaking her head. She touched the bruising on her stomach quickly to remind herself of the need to be determined. 

“You can tell me. I won’t be angry.”

She just shook her head again and turned away to stare, hopefully, poignantly out over the water. Robb lightly took a hold of her elbow and turning her to face him but she just looked down at his feet. 

“Myrcella go on, please…”

“I can’t,” she added a warble to her voice.

“Please tell me.”

She waited a moment. Before looking up. Catching his eye. Then looking back down. Then back up, her eyes dropping to his chest. She made a huge effort of showing herself chewing her own lip.

“Oh screw it,” she finally mumbled. Grabbing Robb by the top of his doublet and pulling him down to her height and kissing him.

It was uncoordinated and clumsy but after a single second of shock he kissed her back, his arms coming to wrap themselves behind her back. They both pulled away at the same time, panting from the intenseness of the kiss.

“Shit, sorry, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself, I’m sorry sorry, so sorry your grace,” Myrcella mumbled quickly into his chest before tearing herself free of him and quickly pacing out of the garden. Hoping beyond hope that he was standing there breathless and taken with what she did. That it would burrow into his mind and take root there. Doubt and confusion over his affections. Whereas she was in no doubt over her affections. After that fist from Cayn she didn’t have any left in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really though it would be Y2J! Rko is better than RR but still yuck!


	24. -2-4-

-R-  
He touched his lips with his finger tips. Watching Myrcella’s long, golden hair, caught in the sun leave the godswood. Yet to move. That wasn’t good. Robb really didn’t want… Did he? He scratched the back of his head and tried to shake off any thoughts. Just remain focused. Who would have thought the hardest part of being King would be having woman troubles? Well… 

Quite a few Kings actually but he didn’t think he would be one.

Staying in the godswood for a while he tried to rack his memory. Tried to remember how he and Myrcella had been with each other before that night when everything changed. He couldn’t. Too  
much had happened… They had been getting along for once hadn’t they?

Was he just blind? Blind to everything happening around him?

Robb did know he had been putting off dealing with uncomfortable situations. Dealing with his father, his mother, his sister. His ex-wife. The poor girl was still in love with him.

He wandered slowly out of the godswood thinking about Myrcella. Arya was walking into the godswood but she make a huge show of ignoring him and huffing as she passed him. Whatever.  
Should he tell Margaery about this? It seemed like she wouldn’t be angry or anything like that. 

She was kind and compassionate and would understand how confused the former princess was.

He would see how it developed. That was probably for the best. Probably. For. The. Best. Huh. 

Yes, it was.

***

He couldn’t meet his own mother on the Iron Throne. Sitting on top of it lording himself above the woman who gave birth to him. Surrounded by new banners and his Kingsguard of one.

It felt wrong.

Instead he decided on receiving her in the Tyrell rose garden. Since Margaery had moved into the Royal Chambers and Mace had marched it was just a pleasant setting. A good suggestion  
by his wife.

“Relax Robb,” Margaery nudged him as they stood with two Tyrell knights and two Stark men-at-arms to greet Catelyn Stark at the entrance to the garden. It gave the impression of unity. As opposed to the fact Robb could barely muster fifty men in Stark colors. They were all in Westerlands.

“I’m relaxed,” he lied.

She kissed him lightly on his cheek as the white beard of Rodrick Cassel and his large stomach appeared. Then his mother, who was dressed in a plain grey and blue dress. She looked stern the way she could, right up until she saw Robb. He almost pushed Margaery from him as if instinctively it was wrong for his mother he see such a tame show of affection.

“Robb,” she rushed out to him, a smile breaking over her face as she grabbed and pulled him away from his wife into a loving embrace. Tight and secure. “Robb,” Catelyn said again breaking the hug to look him in the face. “Given up on the beard?”

He almost laughed. It was such a light question and he had been expecting horrible judgment.

“Yes,” he smiled back rubbing his hand over his chin, “it didn’t look very royal.” He noted her brief scowl. “Oh, mother, please allow me to introduce my wife, Queen Margaery Stark. My  
Queen this is my mother Lady Catelyn Stark.”

“A pleasure your grace.”

“The pleasure is all mine Lady Stark!” Margaery chirped happily, kissing his mother on each cheek. “We have food prepared.”

“Of course, where’s Arya? I need to hold her tight then give her the telling off of a lifetime.”

“Go to get my sister,” Robb ordered one of the men-at-arms behind them. That would add an unpleasant element to dinner. Though hopefully his mother would be able to curb Arya’s surliness and misbehavior. “Come let’s sit.” No longer nervous. His mother was pleased to see him, didn’t eye Margaery suspiciously, nor immediately tell him to take his crown off and that he was an idiot.

“It’s nice here,” Catelyn said as they sat around the stone garden’s gazebo which had been so integral to his life here.

“Some small piece of serenity in this city,” Margaery added.

***

That went well Robb thought, as Margaery glided off in her delicate and graceful manner to give mother and son some alone time. They exchange pleasantries and compliments and Arya didn’t show up. It was as perfect as perfect as could be. The second the green cloaks whirled out of sight escorting his wife Catelyn Stark let out a breath.

“She seems like a nice girl.”

“She is.”

“So… You’re King now.”

“You’re the King’s mother now,” Robb tried to jape lightly “second most powerful woman in the Kingdoms.”

“If you say so. Why aren’t you at the siege Robb?”

“Well… I thought a King doesn’t need to sit outside out a fortress for a year.”

“If you say so,” she said again. “I haven’t spoken to your father since he and my brother left Riverrun with their armies. I can’t imagine he was too pleased with all this.”

“No… No he wasn’t,” Robb admitted. His heart sinking. Of course his mother would be pleasant with Margaery then wait to confront him afterwards. He kicked himself for his own naivety.

“I was scared to see you. Did you know that?”

“No? Why would you be?” Robb spluttered, he was nervous of his mother, it didn’t make sense  
that she could feel that way of him. He hadn’t been gone that long.

“You must know,” she frowned at him. In that moment Robb felt that same weight he felt when he spoke with his father about this war. This relationship, this parental relationship had been altered and warped itself into something new and unknown. Losing all that security and familiar comfort which had once been there. How could authority figures have authority over a King?  
“This is creepy Robb. You and this strange girl… You have a life here which I know nothing of and I arrive and am met with false smiles and empty small talk.”

“She isn’t a strange girl.”

“Not to you no,” Catelyn interrupted him. “That’s part of the strangeness. You have a life here. Your father and I have no… No connection to this Robb. You’re deeply in love with some girl we’ve never met. Some guard from Winterfell whose name I can’t even remember is your new knife man.”

“Cayn?! He’s a Kingsguard!”

“Knife man, Kingsguard,” his mother held up two hands as if weighing up two sides of a scale. 

“These aren’t mutually exclusive.”

He knew he was in somewhat of a crossroads here. Yet he felt himself making the wrong choice as anger rose. He was King for fucks sake. When would people start treating him as such! No fuck that. When would his family start treating him as such? Everyone else did! They respected his battlefield achievements and his authority as KING!

“It’s very easy to criticize isn’t it mother?” Robb sneered.

“Never mind Robb. I was going to try to give you some advice. I don’t want to fight.”

“You want to lecture me about something you know nothing about you mean and wish me to glumly listen and nod like I was still a babe at your breast. I am not a child. I am a killer, I am a lord and a king and a… I’m…” Robb’s temper overtook his ability to speak clearly. 

“I’m tired from the road, I’m going to find Arya. I hope this place hasn’t changed her,” Catelyn stood and curtseyed. “Thank you for the royal welcome your grace.”

Oh he was angry again. All the shit talking and negative things he had heard from Southerners about the North were ringing ever more true. Small minded and without vision. If one more person said ‘your grace,’ sarcastically… Well he wouldn’t order his mother to be executed so it was no threat at all. It would just make Robb even more angry than he already was.

A very nervous looking man entered the rose garden and immediately fell to his knees when in front of Robb. That was more like it.

“A raven came your grace. From Casterly Rock.”

Robb snatched the offered up scroll and didn’t bother even acknowledging the man. He was too lowly to be spoken to by a King. Unfurling the paper his heart dropped. The Northmen under his father’s control had lifted their siege.

“FUCK!”

The servants and messenger went scurrying off. That made him feel a bit better. He kind of wished that he struck the man. It would have relieved some pressure.

“You come back here,” Robb grabbed the collar of the messenger, who was trembling under his grasp. “Go fetch the… Actually fuck it.” He threw the man to the floor. He would go find Margaery rather than have some idiot bumbling around looking for her.

***

“Calm down Robb, my father’s men are still holding the siege.”

“How can I calm down when my father has betrayed me?!”

“I suppose… I suppose he has.”

“You suppose?!” Robb could feel his own eyes bulging like a madman.

“You haven’t explained this to me properly Robb, you’re too worked up!” Margaery put her hands in the crooks of his elbows, his fists clenched and still trembling from rage.

“Fine, fine,” he breathed a few steadying breaths. “The honorable Eddard Stark found out about the order I, well, we gave to sling poisoned cattle over the walls and has taken the Northern contingent away from the siege lines.”

“All of them?”

“No, the Boltons have stayed, they’re loyal at least,” Robb felt the anger rise again. His family was betraying him left right and centre. Treason from the King’s father and sister and his mother was being a cunt too. It was ridiculous. Beyond that. Very rash and very extreme and very mean spirited desires flashed one after another inside his head. “The Tullys too, the Blackfish trotted off with my dear old dad as one would have expected… They are… They’re… Nevermind.”  
Robb’s hand came to his brow again to try, hopelessly, to massage away some of the stress.

“You can’t let this happen,” Margaery said seriously. All the joy and mischief, the leviety in which she usually spoke to him with evaporated jarringly.

“No… No I can’t. I have to go.”

“Go to Casterly Rock?”

“Yes. I have to go. I have to take the walls.”

“Yes, you do,” Margaery once again spoke solemnly. However there was just the hint, the ghostly shadow of an order in her tone, which Robb did not like. “It makes us look weak… You taking the untakeable Casterly Rock would cement our legacy for ever… Well at least several generations.”

“Not the most motivating of speeches.”

“It wasn’t a speech, it was… Hey Robb look at me,” Margaery put her fingers under his chin and raised his head. He had been staring at the letter from the Westerlands the whole time, despite it being crumpled in his clenched fist. “You’ll do it.” She fixed him with an intense gaze. One of pure grit, iron and determination. “You killed the Strongboar. Won two melees in a row. Threw the Lannisters out of the Capitol. Defeated Tywin bloody Lannister in the field. You are King. Our first son will be King.”

“If I don’t die first.”

“You won’t, and…” Margaery took Robb’s hand and placed it to her stomach and smiled warmly. 

“I know it’s a boy.”

***  
On his horse, in his armor, with what remained of his men, Robb waved goodbye to Margaery.  
However he didn’t just feel for the brunette as he exited the eye of the needle from King’s Landing, a blonde girl floated around his subconscious. As he smiled at his wife who was standing on the steps of the Sept of Baelor, waving him off, Robb’s eyes flitted upwards towards the towers of the Red Keep.

He touched the pointed tips of bronze on his crowned helmet. It settled him. Calmed, relaxed and filled him the motivation and self-confidence he sorely needed.

-A-

As much as she hated her brother right now she was sad to see him go. Worried as any sister would be when a loved one goes to war.

Yet.

More than that, the city was left to Margaery Tyrell. She wasn’t a Stark and Arya would never  
ever ever, never, ever, think of that witch as kin.

The singularly most disturbing and scary thing was the fact Margaery was beloved.

Truly beloved.

Arya travelled here and there in the city with her hair loose and in dirty clothes as a faceless urchin of no importance and everywhere she heard her brother and his wife’s name spoke it was spoken with wonder and respect.

How could the people who lived in squalor, who scraped together what little money they could earn for basic provisions love a woman born into wealth now ruling over them?

Well they did.

They were happy for their chains and starstruck by the doe eyed monster holding the keys.

“Mother?” Arya spoke softly as she slowly cracked the door to the chamber Catelyn Stark had been given.

“Come in Arya.”

“Did you say goodbye to Robb?”

“Yes. Did you not?”

“No… I just… No I didn’t.”

“No? I think I can guess why,” Catelyn said patting the chair next to her. She was making some wicker structure, focused completely on bending the wood into a demonic shape. “Perhaps getting out of this city will be good for him,” she continued as Arya sat. She did feel safer in the presence of her mother. Unlike her father who would do his duty no matter what and told her to do hers. She could find sympathy with her mother. After all family came before duty with House Tully. Rather than duty before ALL else as was the Stark way. “We need to leave this place soon  
though.”

“I guess…” Despite hating King’s Landing Arya strangely didn’t want to leave. She felt there was something here she needed to achieve. This place had gotten one over her and she couldn’t leave it like that.

“You guess? I don’t think we’re safe here. That girl Robb has married. There’s something off about her. The Tyrells are ruthlessly ambitious. Just because they aren’t as vile and as brutal as the Lannisters it doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. With the Baratheon line gone they’ll start encroaching on the Stormlands they’ll…”

“Robb has appointed one of his new family as Paramount.”

“Has he? Well there we go. When I first moved North I was terrified,” Catelyn told Arya, her voice deepening, as she sat up and putting down her work and placed her fingers together like a steeple. “So scared. The North was almost not part of the realm. It was a separate place. Different and strange and alien. However I was wrong.”

“We’re the greatest of the realms!” Arya said proudly.

“Depends how you define great. Though I agree,” Catelyn smiled at her youngest daughter. “The North rules itself. Essentially. Power is a poison. One that takes hold and burns honor and pride and righteousness out of one’s system. Some are more resilient than others. Some last years before corrupted, others… Well others it is almost instantaneous.”

“You’re not saying Robb has instantly been corrupted?” Arya asked, because she bloody well thought so.

“No… No I’m not saying that. You need to go home as soon as you can. You’ve lingered too  
long in this place.”

“Bury our heads in the snow?”

“Arya…” Catelyn sighed, as she had a thousand times before. When Bran was climbing up and down the walls. When she ran away from sewing lessons. When Rickon hid in the crenellations of the curtain walls. Rarely at Sansa. Never at Robb. “This…”

“Is more complicated than I understand?!” Arya could feel her own eyes balking like a mad person. Though she was sure that she was the one of the few non mad people left in this world. Sane that would be she supposed. “I can’t talk to you right now mother.”

“You never could hear what you didn’t like.”

“It’s my upbringing,” Arya paused at the door which she had already stormed to so if she started crying then she could hide that shame quickly.

“Excuse me young lady don’t you run off, I haven’t raised you to be spoiled!”

“I live in a castle where everyone has to call me my lady and avert their eyes… Same with you and father you just hate not getting what you want, Robb has taken that control away from you so you’re taking that out on me, who you still can boss around!” the hot tears were starting to sting but Arya was able to choke them back as she fixed her mother with a very accusational look. When no response came, at least not immediately, Arya left, stalking off. Angry but also a bit triumphant at her own epiphany.

***

“My brother longs to be King, I would be happy for him if he were.”

“Would you?” Arya looked suspiciously at Myrcella as they sat opposite each other in the godswood just rolling a ball they had found somewhere back and forth between themselves.

“No… No I would not… That was… That was just a natural thing for me to say. Some polished vapid words.”

“What does vapid mean?”

“Meaningless.”

“Right… Right…”

“I saw your mother yesterday. She gave me that sad smile many have given me.”

“You recognize her?”

“I was married to your brother lest you forget.”

“I actually did,” Arya said pausing and scowling gripping the ball for a second longer before she rolled it back along the grassy floor. “Fuck me… Fuck me, this place is messing with my head. How have you lived here all your life?”

“Ignorant.”

“Huh.”

“Maybe that’s a better way to be, I was never as depressed back then.”

“Were a princess back then… Sorry.”

“No its true… You know… Yes, that’s true, and that ignorance then has served me so poorly now. I’ve racked my brain over and over and over on how to get some semblance of revenge or at least peace for myself and the one idea I had was shallow,” Myrcella confessed this time she paused holding the ball frowning deeply. “I don’t have the tools of Margaery Tyrell.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“That’s it,” Myrcella said without a shred of arrogance, just agreeing to that fact, “Margaery is too and she shrewd at politicking.”

“She’s cruel.”

“Cruelty can be shrewdly executed.”

“I once saw a mummer’s show at Karhold, it was amazing I’d never seen a show like that, I thought them the best performers I’ve ever seen.”

“Go on.”

“But when I got here for the first time during your wedding the mummers who weren’t even allowed within 200 feet of the main tables made those from Karhold look like shit.”

“Well I have no abilities either way… Oh, you mean Margaery. Right. Well she still acts more shrewdly than either of us seem able to.”

“Or more bluntly,” Arya said fixing Myrcella with a meaningful gaze. “Depending on one’s preferences.”

“You have a plan?”

Arya just tapped the side of her nose before holding her hand out asking for the ball to be rolled back. She certainly did have a plan. One which would make Margaery Tyrell come down a few pegs from the rarified air she currently inhabited.

-R-

His armor was uncomfortable. Unable to sleep the night before. So tried masturbating to help drift off but only could finish when he thought of his last fuck with Myrcella then spent the rest of the early morning sticky and warm. Warm and sticky and mostly ashamed. Unable to sleep his heart sinking low with dread then when it reached the bottom of his sternum beating like a hummingbird, as if it were to explode.

“So?”

“Sorry?” Robb snapped out of his miserable recollection. He hadn’t felt right since leaving the capitol. Similar to the feeling he had when he left Winterfell all that time ago. An eon ago now. 

This one was much worse though.

“Which part would you care for me to repeat your grace?” Lord Bolton asked in his slow deliberate, and somewhat unsettling tenure.

“All of it?” His voice came out high. “I apologize Lord Bol…”

“No need your grace, the royal mind weighs heavy I’m sure,” Bolton replied emotionlessly. “Even without your father’s help the North can bring 8,000 troops to bear against the walls with the 

Tyrells too that’ll be nearer 25,000.”

“I heard a million men couldn’t take Casterly Rock.”

“I heard that was Harrenhal.”

“Yes, yes, quite right. Now the reason I wished to speak to you before we convegned the wall council Lord Bolton is I am aware of your reputation and I am willing to go… To… I,” Robb floundered for the wording uncomfortable, and very unlike a King, under that unwavering, almost blank expression of his vassal. “I am willing to use methods shall we say my father would not approve of.”

“Such as the rotten cattle?”

“Just the same.”

“We flung many. From the Bolton camp. The disease will be rife inside those walls. The trebuchets have broken four breaches in the curtain wall and been striking the citadel day and night for weeks.”

“No one will want the bloody place when we’re done eh?” Robb tried to bond with soldierly camaraderie.

“Oh I think some might.”

“Well… Well you’ve serve me well Lord Bolton and if you wish for the Rock. Take it.”

“Is this a royal decree?”

“I will make you the Lord of the Citadel if you so wish. Though I cannot make you Warden of the West outright.”

“The Rock will suffice. As for the methods you so referenced. My men have been collecting oyster shells from the shores as far as Castamere.”

“Oysters?”

“Yes your grace, when burnt the produce a liquid which burns like an acid, it will stick to the skin and blind those struck. We have hundreds of pots filled with this liquid. Before the assault I suggest we launch them.”

“Agreed,” Robb agreed. Giving the matter no thought. It gave him an advantage. An advantage which would rid him of his final enemy and allow him to return home. And to send to his meddling family back to their home.

***

Even smoking from widespread fires, even with heavy projectiles soaring over head, even with thousands of men loyal to Robb Stark lining up over the soil works, Casterly Rock was intimidating.

The curtain wall was naught but a ruin.

The vile stench of death and rot and disease rose like dark green vapors over the lower levels.  
Projectiles still flew at the castle.

Yet this was the Rock.

Fuck that. Robb shook his head. Gripped the handle of his blade to reassure himself.  
If Robb was honest with himself, which he had stopped being a while ago. Honesty disappeared  
in a haze of lust. However if he was. IF.

Then he was pretending to King. He was pretending to the man he felt he ought to be. He pretended not to feel nerves. Pretended to deal with news, good or bad, with a royal indifference.

One thing he did not need to pretend to be proficient at was warfare. He smashed the Lannister forces in the field. Personally killed at least twenty-five people.

This was his time. His environment.

Yes. Don’t be nervous.

The Rock is Tywin Lannister. Tywin had such a reputation. Undefeatable and brutally swift in his victories yet Robb swept him aside.

The Rock… Well water will wash away the most noble and proud cliff face. Snow is just frozen water. Weaponized water.

“WINTER IS COMING!” He bellowed. It came from nowhere. He didn’t intend it but the resonance of the words and the shout when echoed by all the Northerners it vibrated inside him. Fuck this. He was the fucking King. This was his Kingdom. “Make ready to advance!” He cried.  
The weight of history fell heavy upon him. Not a heavy burden which was too hard to act under. A weight which made him confident and solemn. A grit and determination he had only felt once before. When he won that first melee knowing Margaery Tyrell was watching. Wiping away the previous doubts in a flash.

He turned his head to nod to Lord Bolton who in turn returned his nod and then turned in turn to turn the nod and the man who received it took it in turn and the turned down the line.

The quicklime flew in clay pots.

The banners fluttered.

“Advance!”

The call was taken up by Lords and their captains and by the captain’s serjeants.

That noise. It was a rare one. Experienced by few and only remembered by the lucky.  
The clink and clatter of metal as armor covering limbs moved into action. So many in unison it sounded like an explosion. Men moved like a sea made from grey through the soilworks towards Casterly Rock. The ballistae and catapults giving cover overhead.

Poor fuckers.

Robb told himself he was a cavalry vanguard leader. It was his place to lead the heavy horse. Not some pleb based infantry scrabble. It was beneath him… No not that. It wasn’t right for the King scramble between the peasants up ladders and through breaches. No. A King leads and you cannot lead in the tumult Robb reasoned, as the arrows from Casterly Rock started flying back into the churning mass of Tyrell and Stark bannermen.

“ROBB STARK!”

He recognized his father’s voice over the din of the battle happening half a mile away. It was going well… Well, he hoped it was.

Eddard Stark barged his way through Robb’s guards. Cayn stepped in his way.

“What is it you want?” He asked.

“Cayn you insolent bastard Lord Stark brought to you King’s Landing in the bloody first place,” Jory snapped catching up with Robb’s father. Cayn didn’t react. Just stood in the way, his gold and silver armor making him twice as big as he was already. Lord Stark, put a calming hand on Jory’s shoulder.

“Robb, we need to talk,” he said through gritted teeth.

The breach didn’t seem like such a bad idea now. He glanced over to the assault and considered committing his heavy cavalry to get out of this.

“I’m busy right now father, perhaps we can discuss this later,” Robb made his voice come out calm and poised, rather than racked with the nerves he was feeling.

“No we will discuss this now!” Eddard Stark pushed forward and was immediately blocked by many Northmen from the Bolton contingent and Robb’s own men.

“STEP AWAY FROM THE KING!”

Swords rattled and scraped. Oh fuck sake. Robb did not need this. His own fucking father was more of a fucking thorn in his fucking side than the fucking fuckers who took up arms against him.

He hopped down from his horse with the grace and poise he needed to let others see despite not feeling as such.

“Put your swords away,” he commanded.

“This is how we now speak Robb?”

“It’s your grace,” Robb said quietly, hidden behind the shoulders of steel of his loyalists.

“You’ll always, first, be Robb to me. Now let’s speak.”

“You think this the most appropriate time father? I thought you were renowned for your military  
mindedness,” Robb said snarkily.

“You ignore my ravens,” his father snapped back as Robb pretended to check his nails despite them being covered with steel as if bored. “You arrive at camp without telling me, you arrange a direct assault against Casterly Rock without consulting me, then you dare to deny me an audience?! When would be a good time Robb? I suspect after this debacle,” he waved towards the furious battle happening so close to them.

“You broke your participation of siege, so I didn’t think it concerned you. I came to raise the Direwolf over Tywin’s den and you were camped… Somewhere of no consequence.”

“I was waiting for…”

“Some might say,” Robb rose his voice to interrupt, finally squaring his shoulders and building his confidence, “it is treason to disobey a King.”

“Treason.”

“Aye.”

“Is this how you…”

They all paused as missile from the Rock landed a little close for comfort. A fireball erupting less than a hundred yards away.

“Is this how you wish to speak to your father.”

“Is this how you wish to speak to your King?”

“Is this how you wish to be remembered in history books? The Stark who took the Iron Throne and lost his family?”

“The history books are written in blood not ink. I will spill the blood,” Robb again gestured towards the siege, “and write the pages myself.”

“So be it.”

“Begone father. Go bury your head in the snow!”

***

The streets were littered with bodies. Women and children bleeding from useless closed grey eyes. Stuck together with quick lime.

They are enemies, Robb told himself.

He and his honor guard walked through the lower level of the city.

Red Cloak formations were piled up where they had been broken by the tide of hate which eroded the Rock and its inhabitants. Many of their soldiers had wounds, arrows, quarrels, spear tips and knives in their back.

They are enemies.

Turning up the main forum to the second ring Robb saw Northmen emblazoned with the Flayed Man of the Dreadfort were using crossbows to execute those who had surrendered.

Enemies.

The second gate was splintered and broken from the ram. Before Robb reached it a mounted man dragged a Red Cloak who was still screaming, on fire, behind him over the bloodied cobbles. He heard Cayn chuckle. 

Up into the second tier of the citadel and it became more grim. Butchered bodies, mangled and desecrated hung or were in the process of being hoisted up with ropes. His men were displaying their grisly work with pride.

These are enemies.

The screams of women being raped rang loud in his ears. The Lannisters would certainly allow their soldiers to do the same if not worse. When Tywin sacked King’s Landing… Yes. This was just payback, it was all fine, Robb screamed that inside his head while quieting the voice of disgust.

It was no worse nor any better than the wasteland he travelled across to get here in the first place.

-Myr-

“That is a good plan,” Myrcella nodded. It was. Arya had a craftiness and cunning she envied. One developed from rebellious children who worked out methods to disobey their parents. She obviously never tried to develop such skills. “Better than mine.”

“What was yours?” Arya asked. She was actually interested. Very few people… Lie. No one. Had ever been genuinely interested in her.

“Seducing your brother.”

“Huh… How was that going for you?”

“I kissed him before he left for war,” Myrcella admitted. She trusted this girl. The first person she had given such trust to.

“Can you seduce someone you’ve already had sex with?” Arya asked. “I don’t know I no experience with that stuff.”

“I think so, just because Robb and I used to have to sex I think… Does this matter?”

“What was the goal?”

“To mess up his marriage. It was petty.”

“Using your pussy for evil? Or good, depending on your view.”

Myrcella almost spat as she coughed at the bluntness of those words.

“Sorry… I’m terrible at being a lady…” Arya offered holding her hands upwards in mock surrender. “Maybe that would work. I don’t know… I’ve never…”

“No…” Myrcella said as if she was agreeing.

“At least I didn’t say cunt eh?”

Myrcella did spit that time. Just with laughter. Honest and free breaking from her spirit outwards. Arya winked at her, the mischief just in her eyes. A sincere smile broke out naturally over her face.

The first in an age.

-R-

“Lord Tywin Lannister,” Greatjon Umber announced proudly.

It felt like an audience.

As if he.

The King.

Had been invited at the behest of the Warden of the West. Tywin sat alone. None of the Red Cloaks there. Cersei and Jaime and Tyrion absent. Just him. At the head of his main hall of what now just a Motte as he lost his Bailey… And citadel. Sitting on a plain wooden chair. Waiting calmly as Robb and his men entered.

All was broken and beaten and battered beneath their besiegement.

“Your grace,” he purred. His voice like velvet. Indifferent and yet still proper. Commanding of a respect Robb secretly longed for. He sat above them, on a raised platform much like the one the Iron Throne sat upon.

“Lord Lannister,” Robb replied. He and Lord Bolton and Lord Taryl took the speartip of the procession.

Lord Bolton had been beyond loyal deserved nothing but reward so Robb honored him by bringing him with him.

“It seems you have won Stark,” Tywin stood. Intimidating, despite his bald head, despite his muttonchops which would have been amusing coating any other face than his. He took a several, measured paces down the stairs. “Now let us discuss my terms.” He had a confidence in defeat that Robb did not share in victory.

“Lord Bolton,” Robb said quietly before his confidence deserted him.

The whoosh of quarrels broke the silence of the tense hall and three pinned Lord Tywin in his gut.

He fell, looking shocked. That was satisfying. Very in fact. The confidence and his smug self-assured arcane was shattered… Along with the lining of his stomach and bottom ribs. He didn’t plan on that did he.

“Find Cersei, find Jaime, find the Imp and kill them all,” Lord Bolton sent men away.

“It is all but done,” Lord Randyll spoke up. The grim man had little to say. Robb couldn’t judge  
him an ally or not.

“Time to go home,” a voice spoke up.

“No, time to mobilize against these Ironborn raiders,” Tarly replied. “With your leave your grace?” Robb just waved dismissively over his shoulder and the sound of  
He was certainly growing to equate disapproval of his actions with direct insubordination.

The Rock was taken.

Robb stood in the grand feasting hall, in the centre, his hand on the pommel of the sword he hadn’t even drawn staring around at the walls and pillars.  
He was now unopposed. Unopposed. He didn’t feel happiness.  
He stood alone in this hollowed out fortress feeling equally hollowed out himself.

 

 

“And now the snows weeps o’ver his halls,” he whispered to himself.

-A-

She felt a natural swagger in her walk as she left the godswood. Margaery Tyrell might think herself a genius but she was arrogant, and overconfident. That was the chink in her armor which Arya was aiming for. Her weapons weren’t steel or iron. They were forged inside her own mind.  
Her brother, mother and… Well family thought her naught but a reckless tomboy and yet she had come up with such a plan it would topple a Queen.

“Congratulation princess,” a Gold Cloak said as she walked past. Rocked from the stream of internal consciousness and back in the real world her heart began to pound. He surely wouldn’t be congratulating her on her plan.

“For?” She asked trying to keep her breathing normal and not let the onset of panic be too obvious.

“Your brother has burnt the Rock to ashes.”

“He has?”

“Oh my mistake I presumed… The news arrive by raven this morn. He repaid the Sack of King’s Landing tenfold,” the man told her happily. “House Lannister has been snuffed out.”

“Oh… good,” Arya replied. The guard scowled at her lack of reaction.

“You! Stop bothering her,” a senior member of the Gold Cloaks arrived, flanked by two comrades. “Sorry about him princess, your mother has sent for you.”

“My mother? Oh right... I’ll see my own way to her chambers,” Arya replied. Not about to be frogmarched by Margaery’s goons.

“Very well princess, but she isn’t in her chambers.”

“Where is she?”

-Myr-

She was nervous but feeling slightly better. The best she had felt since that night when blood and battle came to the Red Keep. Arya Stark had actually soothed some of her fears about lacking the means to achieve revenge. It had taken a long time for her to trust Arya but now she did it provided her with a sense of comfort. The nerves were always there though. Especially as once more she had been summoned by Margaery Tyrell.

Waiting outside of her solar the nerves grew.

Just smile and seem meek.

The door pulled open and two men in holy robes left.

“Myrcella my dear come,” Margaery smiled broadly and warmly at her. Though as always her eyes gave her away. That hand which despite being soft and warm felt like spiked ice rested on Myrcella’s shoulder as it guided her towards the balcony. Placed a glass of wine in her hand. 

“Silly priests, they wanted me to reform the Faith Militant. Can you imagine such a thing?”

“I’m sure they’re just doing what they think is right.”

“People don’t know what is right or what is wrong, hence Kings and Queens,” Margaery dismissed her as she poured herself a glass and rejoined Myrcella on the balcony. “Do you see that ship?”

Myrcella tried to find where the Queen’s finger was pointing.

“Yes your grace.”

 

“Do you know where it is going?”

“No your grace.”

“Have a guess,” she whispered, her voice full of spite, an unnerving threat there.

“Mereen?”

“No. Westeros.”

“Sunspear?”

“Colder.”

“Erm,” Myrcella racked her mind for one moment and then it hit her and her heart sunk into the pit of her stomach. “White Harbor?”

“Yes.”

“Arya…”

“Has finally, at last, gone back to her home.”

“Your husband’s home.”

“This is my husband’s home!” Margaery’s mask slipped for a moment and bile spilled out from  
the rot underneath before she quickly secured it again with that false smile. “Though yes I suppose technically.”

“She didn’t like it here,” was all Myrcella could offer up. Margaery had outplayed her. Obviously she had. Obviously. What a stupid little girl she still was. Getting her hopes up on a prayer and a dream and not realizing that the woman who had outplayed everyone to rise as high as possible would outplay her.

“Well that isn’t actually her ship it left a while ago, that is a ship taking the new Paramount of the Trident and Stormlands to Storm’s End… A Tyrell naturally,” Margaery explained smugly.

“I thought one my father’s bastards ruled there.”

“He wasn’t your father and you’re a bastard,” Margaery snapped, before ironing out the angry creases on her furrowed brow and that unpleasant, familiar courtly smile returned. “No. He was meant to come here but didn’t… I sent a letter.” Which Arya threw away Myrcella took small victory in the pettiness her lost ally had confided in her. “When news came from the West that my husband had overthrown Casterly Rock and was marching back here the knights and men-at-arms of Storm’s End killed this upjumped bastard,” she said the word with such underlying venom, “and strung him from the crenellations.”

“Their own Lord.”

“Not Lord!” The Queen snapped again, “Bastard,” she corrected nastily. “Robb took the impenetrable Casterly Rock and killed Tywin, the impenetrability of Storm’s End must have seemed less worthwhile to test. They say you can see the fires from Casterly Rock from Riverrun. Hear the screams from Pyke. Nonsense of course but…” She trailed off staring off at Blackwater Bay. The Queen was seemingly turned on by this horror.

Arya was gone. House Lannister, the closest thing she could call her house was gone. The man who she called father all her life was gone and his lands seized too, his supporters gone.  
While she had been giggling like a naughty schoolchild about upsetting and getting small petty wins over the Queen, the Queen had been stitching up the wounds of the Kingdoms with green and gold thread.

It was so perfect. So, so perfect. The cunning and ambitious nastiness of the Tyrells masked perfectly with the honor of the Starks.

Robb maybe worse than her.

He used the legacy of his forebears to camouflage the trail of murders, lies and bones on which he and his wife had fashioned their throne.

He was exploiting people’s best intentions and using their decency against them to be indecent.

“Well?”

“Sorry?” Myrcella lurched out of her own thoughts back into the room.

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

“No. May I be excused your grace?”

“No you may not. I wish to get drunk to celebrate the great news. You will get drunk with me.”

“Very well your grace.”

Margaery downed her full chalice of wine and poured another, downed it, then another.

“Take off your shawl,” the Queen ordered.

And she did. With trembling fingers as Margaery sat in her chair and looked on as one might at a novelty.

“Such a beautiful girl.”

“Come over here.”

“Yes your grace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love puppies and rainbows and shit... Business Business numbers... Is this working?!
> 
> Yay!


	25. -2-5-

-2-5-

-T-

They saw the smoke rising at dawn. From the hills near the Golden Tooth. 

Trails became pillars became columns became walls of thick black, soot filled, smoke. They were miles and miles from Casterly Rock. Smoke that high and thick meant the citadel was all burning.

Tyrion pushed himself to his feet, stumbling on the cold uneven earth where he had slept. He wasn’t the last awake but neither was he the first. 

Men from their band were leaving them. Rushing off into the woods. Throwing their colors away as they went. 

Jaime was standing above them all on the vantage place of a boulder on the mountainside where they were camped. Tyrion made his tired, sore limbs grind into movement up to his brother.

He had nothing to say. Jaime acknowledged him briefly before his eyes flitted back to the towering inferno. 

More and more men were fleeing. Not from the original contingent who left Casterly Rock but those from Sarsfield or other minor houses who had sought them out and joined them. Now left. 

He couldn’t blame them not really. Never in his most fevered nightmares would he have imagined that the Starks and the Tyrells would actually assault Casterly Rock. It should have been certain death and failure. 

Then to burn it down?! 

“It’s over,” Jaime finally spoke.

“It was over when we lost in the field,” Tyrion replied after a while. “This is just the curtains finally falling.”

“Cersei,” Jaime breathed, barely audible.

“Sorry.”

“Father.”

“We still live.”

“Might as well be dead,” Jaime spat. Tyrion pursed his lips and let out some air. “You disagree?”

“I can’t imagine wanting to be dead. It’s so final. Whereas life, no matter how bleak has the possibility of opportunity,” he replied.

“Ser Jaime! Ser Jaime!” One of their few soldiers rushed towards him.

“I see it,” Jaime replied. 

“No my lord, not that. Eddard Stark and a smaller group of men will be coming through the Golden Tooth soon.”

“How soon?” Jaime’s body came back to life and energy reinvigorated his voice. 

“Just after midday,” the scout replied. “I rode my horse breakneck speed ser, almost fell on…”

“I don’t care, are you sure it was Eddard Stark?”

“Yes Ser Jaime.”

“Tell me the details.”

Tyrion wanted to listen he truly did but that pillar of smoke drew his eye and mind away. He didn’t care much anymore. That was the end of them. Some guerilla fighting to no end. There was little possibility in achievement in this folly to begin with. It was to sap the morale and supply lines to the siege. Now there was no siege. No Lannister stronghold. Nothing. Cersei would be dead. He couldn’t be sad about that. Not happy either. Just not sad. Joffrey would be dead. That was a small silver lining. Tommen… Now he didn’t deserve anything but a simple and happy life.

They were probably now part of that trail of smoke. 

He needed a drink.

***

He was of no use now apparently. Cutting at the legs of terrified men in the dark with an ax was one thing. Attacking a column when heavily outnumbered was another. He was in the trees overlooking the road which Jaime picked. 

Jaime was… Well Tyrion had never seen him like this. So full of energy. Animated like a madman. He could understand that. He was wallowing in the misery of the situation. 

Whereas his brother. He had a glimpse of purpose and was clinging to it in order to distract himself from confronting the oblivion that had reached them whether he acknowledged it or not. 

An internal fire allowed Jaime to ignore the external one darkening the sky.

They had less than 200 men. 

Though with the exception of himself they were all battle hardened. The best the Lannister army had to offer before its devastation. All killers, all determined. Though that should have been obvious. The fact they stayed. Most armies were made up of unwilling farmers and fishermen who had to pay for their own uniforms before going off to die for Lords they would probably only ever see at a distance. These men knew Jaime and he knew them and if House Lannister was dead so were they. 

The honor of dying in battle was such a peculiar mindset to Tyrion. However it gripped everyone here except him.

He had thought perhaps his desire to survive was only based on the fact he had lived a cushy life. No. Not the case. After weeks in the woods, with pain everywhere in his body, soreness in the marrow of his bones, and with the pillar of smoke he still wished to live.

What he did not have was the energy to tell Jaime he didn’t want to try to take one last chunk out of the enemy before dying the knight’s dream death. 

Perhaps that was the same as being ready to die. Not having the will to get yourself out a certain death situation.

Just keep loading crossbows. That was his job. Load and place to the side. Load and place to the side. Load and place to the side. 

***

His heart was thumping. His ribcage were the walls of Casterly Rock and his heart was a Stark trebuchet. 

Tyrion had ended up in the basket he always ended up in. With the cripples who could no longer fight. His job was reload the crossbows which would give constant support.

Their scout. Yes. Scout. Not plural.

Had seen Eddard Stark and his mounted unit marching through the hillside paths presumably to Riverrun. 

It was about to begin. The end that was. Eugh what a terrible cliche. 

The Direwolf banner appeared first. Fluttering in numerous places as the front of the column became visible. Four men, in full grey plate carrying the bolts of cloth lead the way. Followed by several more men. A break. Then Lord Stark. Tyrion couldn’t make out his face but it was him. Mounted. They were all mounted. At least five hundred men. 

The infantry didn’t seem to be coming with him. As they should. The foot soldiers ought to be marching in line behind their mounted commanders but they weren’t. 

Good news.

If being outnumbered just over two to one was good news. Tyrion glanced up at the black sky. All things considered it was good news. 

These men weren’t ready for ambush. They must have thought their job was done.

The Lannister guerillas were spread out in the hedgerows and ditches waiting patiently. Tyrion and the five injury riddled men were by a felled tree. All of these hidden places looking down a gradual gradient to the mountain path. It was a good place for an ambush he supposed. Jaime knew what he was doing.

Speaking of his brother he had sneaked up behind Tyrion’s position and patted him lightly on the shoulder.

“Be ready, any minute now.”

“Very well.”

Jaime’s hand didn’t leave his shoulder, instead he turned his younger brother around to face him and bending down on one knee hugged him tightly before disappearing off in the woods. 

“We’re ready to die for House Lannister my lord,” the man next to him, whose left leg was in a splint. 

“Thank you,” Tyrion replied, biting back any sarcasm. “What’s your name?”

“Brandon my lord.”

“It’s just Tyrion out here Brandon,” he corrected glancing once more at the smoke filled sky, still visible through the trees tops.

***

The screaming of men was bad enough. The screaming of horses unable to make sense of their agony was the worst.

As the ground gave way underneath the front of the Stark procession and the spiked pits hidden under the path ate them all up. 

Those with him began popping up over the cover of the felled tree and began losing quarrels and shoving the empty crossbows in his direction to reload. 

Steel clashed and screams and cries erupted down in the road they were overlooking but Tyrion couldn’t see. He just hooked the claw around his waist onto the crossbows, drew the bow and placed a bolt and then started the process again. 

The fighting was getting closer. As the Starks caught up with the ambushed section of their line and the Lannisters were pushed back into the woods from the road. Well that was what he was guessing from hearing alone. 

Glancing over his cover Tyrion saw madness, madness and chaos. 

The dead littered the forest path and the fighting was an unorganized mess. Spread out as he suspected. The initial assault and traps might have snared and surprised the Starks but they were reforming and using the greater numbers to overwhelm what was left of the Lannisters. 

“They’re getting close my lord,” the wounded man next to him whose name he didn’t learn said, drawing out his dirk and using the log to push himself to his feet. “Arm yourself lads.”

The pathetic group drew knives and hatchets as Tyrion hefted the doubled edged small ax he had been using the past few weeks. Months? No it couldn’t be. Just seemed that way. He couldn’t remember his life before this. Just foot pain, joint soreness, hunger and a crushing despair of impending disaster. 

The armored Stark soldiers had pushed up to them and the first man leaped over their cover was and was promptly stabbed by all the Lannister disabled. A short lived victory as the next man took two of Tyrion’s comrades with him before succumbing to the knife strikes of Brandon. Furious and uncoordinated strikes, but deadly nonetheless.

More Stark men made their way over the log killing all but Tyrion and Brandon. Despite his limp he managed to roughly grasp the scruff of Tyrion’s neck and dragging him backwards. 

“You saved my life,” Tyrion managed to spit out. Looking up the second a spear took Brandon through the chest and pinned him a tree trunk. 

He tried to flee down the hill, downwards to the thickest of the fighting. Tumbling head over heels and falling through the stone and thistle covered ground. Cracking his skin and tearing his hair and face before crashing into a tree trunk and coming to a painful, immediate stop. 

-R-

King’s Landing loomed in front of him. 

Robb left the Rock as soon as possible. He wanted home. Home was King’s Landing. Home was wherever Margaery was. 

Robb lead a small column back. The Tyrells went to deal with the Greyjoys and the Boltons stayed, as Robb awarded the citadel to Roose. Less than 200 men entered King’s Landing to cheering and celebration. 

The adoration of the masses cheered Robb up a lot. He was sick to his back teeth with squabbling with his family so to see the dirty peasants and plebs deifying him was a great reward.

He touched out reached hands and waved to a boisterous and supportive crowd on his way to the Red Keep. 

As he dismounted he saw a herald looking sombre.

What now. What the FUCK NOW?!

“What?!” Robb demanded as strood forth to meet the man waiting for him.

“News my lord,” the herald handed him two scrolls.

“Your grace!” Cayn snapped and back handed the herald with his steel gauntlet as Robb took the papers and turned his back to the violence as his Kingsguard kicked the man onto the floor. “Speak properly.”

The first one he read that Jaime Lannister was dead and his body cut to pieces and Tyrion was captured and on his way to King’s Landing as a prisoner. 

That put Robb in a great mood.

The second said his father had been killed in the same battle in which Jaime Lannister died and the Imp was captured. Robb held the scroll taut and read and re-read and read it again. His hands almost shook, but he kept his emotions private. 

His father. The man he looked up to for all his life. A man thousands maybe tens of thousands looked up to was gone. However…

However.

He was now Lord of the North and the Northern Warden while being King. That was too much power and responsibility for him… Yet it did mean Robb was now in one of the most powerful positions in the Kingdoms… All those soldiers who broke the siege and left with his father had to follow him now. 

Hold up. Robb caught himself.

No. You can’t look for positivity. Your bloody father has passed; Robb told himself.

“Cayn!” Robb called. His best man leapt to his side. “Read this,” he handed the scroll over. 

“What?” The Kingsguard scanned the paper but obviously couldn’t make sense of it. 

“My dead father?!” Robb said disbelievingly.

“Yes your grace let’s get you to your quarters. MAKE WAY FOR THE KING! MAKE WAY!” Cayn pushed aside servants and low level courtiers who had been waiting to greet the heroic returning King. 

Robb just barged himself forward making sure no one could see the emotion on his face. 

 

-M-

“You have a beautiful body,” Margaery murmured as she looked at Myrcella’s naked figure. Margaery walked towards her and reached out but didn’t touch her. Just left the ghost of a touch. The Queen then picked up the former princess’ clothes and tossed them over the balcony. “Walk back to your chambers.”

“But… But… I’m…”

“I’m Queen, bastard, so get back to your bloody chambers this instant!” Margaery bellowed. She was angry. How dare this girl talk back to her in this manner. Didn’t she realize that Margaery was treating her well?! Any other Queen would have a person in Myrcella’s position murdered. Yet she needed to be punished for her behaviour. Punishment would lead to learning and correction. “If you didn’t want to be punished than you ought not have sneaked around. Now walk.”

The former princess, gave her one last look of fear and loathing but obeyed as Margaery knew she would. Now she needed to be obeyed. Having the Kingsguard essentially inform the freshly arrived Catelyn Stark to piss off back to that frozen shit hole the lesser Starks all loved so much, was beyond gratifying. Getting rid of the Starks meant the only Stark who mattered could be with her and rule together.

Though Margaery truly missed Robb she was bit nervous, having lied and told him she was pregnant. Maybe she was. It was possible. They had been having sex and he had been finishing inside of her each time since their first time. In their mid to late teens they ought to be the most fertile. When he got back she could just tell him she was mistaken and he would have no trouble with her encouraging them to ‘try and try and try again.’ 

Did she want to be pregnant? She should yes. However she would be indisposed for a handful of months before and after birth. If she was indisposed she couldn’t…

“Margaery!” Robb burst through the door into her chambers. He looked rather fine indeed. In the armor from Tobho Mott, covered in a thin layer of dust and grime, enough to look battle hardened and not enough to look dirty. 

“Robb!” She jumped to her feet, all her reservations of his return disappeared as Margaery ran over their bedroom to hug and kiss her husband. Wow, she thought as she hugged him tightly to her, I really did miss him. “You’re back early! You destroyed the Lannisters! You!”

“Here,” Robb held out a piece of paper. Margaery took it and read it. Oh. That was… Good news for her but she couldn’t act like it was. She disliked Eddard Stark and thought if there was one threat to their power as King and Queen was the Northern Warden disapproving Robb into regretting taking the crown. Now that couldn’t happen. With Catelyn in the North and Ned in the dirt they were cemented! Casterly Rock was taken. The Lannisters gone. The Baratheons gone. The Riverlands and the Reach and the North and the Crownlands and the West under their control. This was the greatest day of her life!

“Oh Robb,” Margaery kissed him softly on the cheek. “Oh Robb I’m so sorry, this is the worst news I’ve ever heard!” 

“I… I don’t know what to think right now,” Robb mumbled. “I’m… Nevermind. I need to get out of my armor and bathe.”

“Very well, I’ll be here for you my darling,” Margaery told him squeezing both his hands. 

Happiness disappeared quite quickly as she realised that as the mistress of whispers she really should have been told about this before Robb found out. She would need a word with some of her spy ring and maybe punish failure.

***

“Awww, look at the little freak!” Margaery sarcastically cooed as one might towards a baby or kitty cat. Tyrion Lannister just bowed his head in his cage, staring at the floor. It was a small cage which amused Margaery too. “The last of the Lannisters. Your family is half of what it used to be.”

“A bad joke your grace,” Tyrion said. His voice still had strength. His spirit wasn’t yet broken.

“Was it?” Margaery nodded to the hooded guard next to her. He threw a bucket of icy water at him and Tyrion swore and shivered. “Listen here you Imp, you little monster, if… Actually,” she had a great idea. “If you are such a good judge of comedy mutant you can be my jester.”

“I won’t dance or jape for you, I see through you girl, I see through you completely. You’re simply a brunette Cersei.”

“I don’t fuck my brother.”

“No you fucked a married man though, and stole a crown with what’s between your thighs. Don’t worry your grace, we’ve had plenty of whore queens,” Tyrion looked up and made eye contact. He was defiant. 

Margaery almost went crazy with anger but she was able to suppress it and swallow the rage. 

“Don’t be too sore,” Tyrion drawled, “no one can match my wits.”

“Cut his fucking tongue out and stuff him into a little jester’s costume and chain him to the table in the great hall. Feed him from a bowl like a dog,” Margaery ordered the hooded guard who guffawed loudly at the just punishment. Again Margaery reasoned this wasn’t too cruel of a thing to do, better than killing the last Lannister. “See he likes my japes,” Margaery crouched down to meet Tyrion’s height in the cage, smiling broadly at him. “No one will laugh with you again only at you. You abomination.”

“Jape? My Queen?” The hooded guard held a knife in one hand but paused.

“Oh no, I meant it, cut his tongue out… Actually cut it out and pierce a hole in it and make him wear it as a necklace,” Margaery spoke to the goon but didn’t break eye contact with Tyrion. She was delighted as this traitor’s Lannister smugness seeped away and was replaced with genuine fear. 

She stood patiently in the corner as the dwarf struggled and screamed as he was held and his tongue was cut from the base of his throat and pulled out. 

“Make him drink salt water,” she ordered. “Or boiling water. Oh gods, I’ve dallied too long I need to have supper with Robb. Silly old me, I can be so forgetful!” Margaery giggled at her absent-mindedness as she left the room to muffled screams from a newly made mute’s mouth.

-Myr-

She cried for ages. Ages until her eyes were so red she could barely see. She had worried that Margaery was going to subject her to some sort of bizarre sexual thing but making her walk naked back through the Red Keep was far worse. Luckily the first Stark guard she saw, averted his eyes and tore off his cloak and covered her. 

“The Queen should not have done this to you,” he had said. Myrcella felt bad for not knowing the man’s name. He had been with Robb since he had first come South to marry her. 

So she was spared the shame of anyone having to see her naked body. Up until now only Robb had seen her nude and at the time she was perfectly happy with this. Now her body and her mind were the last two things left to her and Margaery was degrading one of those as well.

It was a brutally effective strategy, brutally. She had already forgotten about Arya being sent away by the new Queen as she took away an ally and swiftly moved onto humiliating her.

The longer she spent on her own the worse it got.

Myrcella thought about every time since Margaery first married Renly when she and Robb interacted. At the jousts and feasts and melees, while Myrcella stupidly just sat like a royal ought to, the Tyrell girl was presumably flirting with her husband… Had… Had Margaery and Robb slept together in their marital bed when she was absent one night?! That horrible thought hadn’t occurred to her before but of course it must have happened. 

She had to dress in fresh clothes and go to eat supper mid-evening with the new court. A court full of faces she didn’t really recognize. New up and coming vultures who saw the carnage riddled fresh regime as their chance to supplant the older houses so they swooped down and became picking the flesh from the bones. Baratheon and Lannister had existed for hundreds and hundreds of years and now they were gone. Root and stem.

“Oh gods,” Myrcella muttered to herself as she recognized someone…

Her beloved Uncle Tyrion Lannister was chained the great feasting table by his ankle. He was stuffed into a tight, uncomfortable looking jester’s costume, complete with patchworks and bells. Myrcella tried to catch his eye but when she did the sight became even worse. His mouth was all bruised and cut and destroyed. 

“Tyrion,” she spluttered aghast, unable to keep a low profile. The King and Queen looked down at her from their high table as did much of the court. She had accidently made herself the centre of attention, the last thing she wanted. Her Uncle looked at her with sad, distant eyes and opened his mouth to grunt unintelligibly. “Gods,” she muttered again. She saw his tongue was stapled to a piece of string, hanging around his neck. Cayn came behind him and poured a jug of wine over his head to much laughter.

“Dance you little fucker.”

Tyrion meekly obliged. 

“Myrcella!” Margaery addressed warmly. Sounding so friendly and welcoming. “Come sit with us. Eat. Celebrate in our victory. We, as your new monarchs, forgive our enemies,” she pointed at Myrcella, “and we welcome them. This is a new era of peace and tolerance!” Everyone cheered and banged their goblets and clapped in appreciation for that brazen lie. “Start the music,” Margaery ordered as Myrcella sat next to her.

“I’m not hungry,” Myrcella waved off a servant trying to provide her some food. 

“Well waste not, want not,” Margaery said, picking up a roast potato and throwing at Tyrion. “Dance for us midget!” 

Tyrion glumly jigged around mutely like a broken pathetic creature as everyone laughed and began feasting. 

***

She excused herself as soon as she could. Margaery just dismissed her when the Queen was bragging about how fantastic the new royals were to some handmaidens. 

Myrcella tried to shoot her Uncle a look of sympathy but got nothing from his dead, broken eyes in return. 

“Myrcella!” 

She turned in her corridor, down in the bowels of the Red Keep, heading towards her room. Robb was there. He was drunk. Still holding a wine skin.

“I’m sorry about your family,” he said as he approached. She just shrugged. “My father… He passed fighting Jaime. Killed each other. Or… Well I don’t know,” Robb slurred unhappily. 

“Sorry,” Myrcella said without a shred of sincerity. 

“No… No… You don’t have… Did you see Tyrion?! I liked the fellow, he was a decent chap… I can’t… Believe… Margaery… Why would she do that?” He asked. He was staggering a bit and his eyes were red. What a mess the King was in.

“I’m sure there was a good reason.”

“No. There isn’t!” Robb shouted, his emotions changing like only a drunk person’s could. “Myrcella!” He put a hand on her waist and pulled her to him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want this. I wish could turn back time. Wish I could reset all of this. Stop it all. Fucking… Fucking… Fucking… Fucking wash it all away.”

“You can’t.”

“I know,” Robb suppressed a tearful shudder as he leaned down and rested his head on Myrcella’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled drunkenly into her neck. Moving his head he kissed her, without any consent and without her kissing him back but he kept going. 

Myrcella just became weak and limp unable to stop the bigger, far stronger King from pushing her back into her meagre chambers and throwing her onto the bed. 

“I just want to go back to how things were!” Robb said not looking at her. Before Myrcella could say a word he was tearing off his small clothes under her skirts and roughly seizing her thighs and pushing himself inside her. 

Unable to fight back, she closed her eyes and let him thrust nastily and sloppily in and out of her. As he mumbled unintelligible nonsense at her. Reeking of strong wine. He finally shuddered and she felt the familiar sensation of warmth spreading inside her as he pulled out and stumbled back.

Robb looked like had a moment of realization of what he had just done before hurriedly pushing his trousers back up and rushing from the room.

Myrcella lay there for a while. Her skirt all askew and her body violated for the second time today. Just staring blankly at the ceiling as Robb’s seed leaked out of her, now sticky and cold onto her thighs. 

She didn’t cry nor would she. 

One had to care about something in order to cry and she had just been made completely empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rainbows, lollipop and something lalalala..


	26. -2-6-

-2-6-

-R-

He paused outside of his chambers. His two soldiers who waited outside at all hours didn’t acknowledge him. He was drunk as all hell. The worst he had ever been. Cup after cup, he had been sick and moved onto strongwine, as his head began swimming he had burst into Myrcella’s chambers and lay with her. That was blurry now. As he had later found some rum. The stronger booze had perked him up again and given him a fresh energy. 

He didn’t wish to see Margaery right now… No…

If anything he ought to bathe first at least. Wash Myrcella’s scent from his body. Wash the alcohol from his body and try to wash the dirt he felt he was coated in. 

Staggering away from his two mute sentinels, Robb made his way to a bath chamber, ordered servants to come and prepare hot, soapy, scented, pleasant bathing waters. It took several attempts to get his message out, as he slurred and staggered and stumbled and generally acted like drink addled idiot. 

“Dare they… Hic,” Robb hiccupped and caught the hot vomit in the back of his throat. He leaned over and tried to rack and spit the gloopy, orange paste out from his back teeth. He fell and swore. “LEAVE!” He bellowed at a servant who rushed to help him. Robb would not have anyone see him in such a state. He lowered himself into the hot water, “fuck!” he swore as he sliced open the back of his elbow on sharp, stone edge of the pool. 

Submerged in water his anger, his rage nor his resentment went away. 

“I’m alone,” he mumbled to himself, choking back tears. He failed to do so. He blubbered like a sad little boy. “Alone,” he muttered again. His father was gone. He had pushed away his family. Allowed Margaery to… He should have watched what she was doing, should have been there and reigned himself in… He shouldn’t have cheated on Myrcella in the first place and he shouldn’t have cheated on Margaery less than an hour ago. He shouldn’t be King… 

“But I am…” He said out loud only to himself again. Only to lower this low moment even more Robb pissed himself under the water without really thinking. “Oh gods… You pathetic fucking…”

Had he turned into Robert Baratheon? Had he? His wife had control over the court. Control over the Reach. Control over the Stormlands… Where did he have control? How was he King? He was in name only and now like the former King he was now so drunk his emotions were at the surface; spilling out in between hiccups and burps and suppression of vomit. He couldn’t suppress it anymore. Robb puked out red, wine, infused sick out into the water; creating a disgusting, chunk filled, alcohol reeking, film; floating over the bath.

“Fuckin’,” Robb mumbled again, the sick having cleasned him of his anger and a deep, bone aching sense of exhaustion washed over him. He pulled himself out of the water having only sat in it for a minute. Leaving his blood to mix in with his expulsions of piss and sick into the water. “I…” He fell over his own uncoordinated limbs and hit the hard tiles. He was too drunk to feel the pain. 

Robb managed to get dressed again, still sopping wet, he continued his terrible, embarrassing stumbling. Not back to his room, not to Myrcella’s, but back to an old, empty room. That hadn’t been used in a long time. His old bed chamber, it was dusty and unused yet comforting as he flopped down on the musty sheets and passed out diagonally; his feet hanging off the edge of the bed. Trying to stop the world from spinning he tried to force his dreams to be of Myrcella. 

-M-

“The King had bad news yesterday, I think we can excuse him from this meeting,” Margaery told the small council. Cayn, Grand Maester Gorman and her new master coin who was some simpering Lord from the Reach, Lord Merryweather, were the only ones present. “He deserved a spot of over-indulgence no?” Everyone agreed. She felt good being in charge. She was ruling the realm. It felt good.

“News from the across the Narrow Sea,” Gorman handed a scroll.

“Daenerys Targaryen lives in a pyramid?” Margaery read the bare-bones information from the note. “What stupid names that inbred family has, so she has an army and dragons and lives in Mereen? Do we know if she is invading?”

“It appears not your grace, just she has taken the city and has a sizeable force, at the moment it would seem as if she is staying put,” Gorman said.

“So?” Margaery threw the scroll away. “Why bother me with this? We are governing the Seven Kingdoms, not Essos. It is… Well whatever, it is a good place for a Targaryen, they are foreigners why not rule a foreign land? Valyria is part of Essos if I remember my geography?” Gorman nodded to confirm this. Margaery internally congratulated herself in her own mind for her vast intelligence and knowledge. “Domestically, we need some envoy from Dorne to bend the knee and accept the new Tyrell-Stark regime.”

“Doran has been written to twice and so has his brother Oberyn. Oberyn is on his way with a small envoy party but Doran regrets his absence. He cites health reasons. 

“Oberyn! Bah! He crippled my brother, if he had done it since we took the throne the crown would have had him executed!” Margaery snapped. “

“Willas minds the man not,” Gorman spoke up, “they exchange letters and gifts, I sent them from the…” He trailed off and withered under Margaery’s angry gaze. Willas had been crippled, clearly he didn’t think quite right. Oberyn Martell… She might actually arrange a secret, covert end for the ‘Red Viper,’ for breaking her older brother. 

“Speaking of Jousting,” Margaery turned the conversation back to where she wished it to be. “That would be a good idea, if we wish for the Lords and Ladies and knights and so on to come here and bend the knee to me then we… And to Robb; bend the knee to Robb and I,” Margaery corrected herself. “If we hold a tournament and invite all the sheep then having allegiance sworn under the guise of celebration will neutralize any…”

“Sense of compulsion?”

“Yes,” Margaery agreed. “Though it is compulsion. We are starting a kinder more inclusive, more tolerant and loving monarchy, devoid of the formality and aloofness of the past! We simply need their sworn allegiance to start building our new world.” 

***

“Really Margaery? Do you think I want to fucking sing and dance and clap at cunts blowing fire out their mouths? Having a bunch of pathetic sycophants coming to kiss our arse?” Robb slurred a bit when he spoke but his anger overcame the alcohol he had obviously been drinking. Her husband didn’t look good; he looked drunk and hungover at the same time. His eyes tried to meet her’s but they were unfocused and glazed slightly. 

“You need cheering up dear, I worry about you, every time I try to talk to you since you got back has been chaste.”

“I’m… I’m in mourning,” Robb mumbled. “I need to make arrangements to travel back to Winterfell for the funeral proceedings…”

Margaery’s blood ran cold at that. She didn’t want them out of King’s Landing and if he went North she would surely have to go too. They couldn’t leave when their power was so early formed. It was still in womb and they couldn’t be putting such stress on their power as to both leave the Capitol. She also didn’t want to risk Robb being surrounded by a bunch of savage, bearded Northmen and talked out of his new found superiority. Besides after the way she had treated Arya Stark, who deserved it, going to her home turf surrounded by Northerners who hated her… No that wasn’t going to happen.

“I…” Robb started and stopped and shook his head. 

“See you’re miserable, you need cheering up, remember how happy you were after the melees?”

“That feels like a lifetime ago… It was barely any time at all…” 

“No, but remember how you felt?”

“That was more because of you,” Robb said without making eye contact. “I would have been happy if there were art fairs and paintings and we were first; erm, bonding?”

That made her genuinely smile for the first time in a long time. It had all been holding and keeping and consolidating power for months now but, it had all begun with the two of them just simply falling in love. Margaery had to quickly dispel such sentimentality from her mind, they had a Kingdom to stitch together and rule! They could be sentimental on their anniversary next year… If there was time. 

“I heard it said tournaments were an universal good,” Margaery tried to get Robb back on track with her, correct, mindset. “The highborn can gain favor and honor and the lowborn get a reprieve from the drudgery of their lives.”

“I suppose…” Robb still wouldn’t look at her, instead he walked around their chambers searching for something. Finding some wine he sat back down and drank straight from the jug. She had a real urge all of a sudden to slap that alcohol from his hands. She decided to give him a little period of wallowing; before correcting that poor behavior. 

“We will be the monarchs who defeated the Lannisters, those who burned this city, then brought the realm together,” Margaery said softly, but a little patronizingly. “Through celebration. You tore down the Rock and got no victory parade.”

“I need no parade, I hate them, those who cheer you would easily rip apart in a mob a week later if it suited them.”

“We’ll talk later,” Margaery sighed. “When you’ve sobered up.”

“Could be a while,” Robb muttered getting up and going to the balcony. He already had a slight unease to his movements; the preliminary signs of intoxication etched all over him. “King’s Landing,” he said looking out of the balcony. “It’s funny nay? That when you’re King you rule the Kingdoms. From the flowing oceans of golden sand in the far South to the intricate,” he paused to drink again from jug, undercutting any poetry in his words with his boorishness. “Intricate, interlocking mountains of the East to even the Islands in the West Sea… Yet for all that beauty and for all those people out there; for the most part all you ever get to bloody see is this city.”

“It’s a nice city.”

“I hear Oldtown is nicer,” Robb replied. Margaery’s innate sense of Kingdom pride swelled a bit at that. “Even so I’m sure Lord Hightower wishes for a change of scenery now and again.”

“You’ve only been back a couple days.”

“And I’m already planning to leave again, but when I return from the trip I will be cemented here until some tournament, some big marriage, some rebellion, some invasion or I die of old age,” Robb replied. “Does that not depress you somewhat?” 

“Why would you prefer to be a sellsword in Essos?” Margaery asked. She hadn’t expected her husband to open up to her like this, she had expected drunken rages followed by bouts of sadness. Though this might count as a bout of sadness. 

“Of course not, I’m a highborn, for all my bravado of being able to tough things out I need people to ‘mi’lord,’ me and do things for me. Do you know how to change bed sheets?”

“No clue.”

“No same, but even if I could take care of myself; if I were some traveller I’d probably die from a minor wound in the desert or foreign sickness and if not then would long for a place to have some roots.”

“The two scenarios are the opposite of each other and both would make you unhappy? I can’t help there Robb,” Margaery replied. All thoughts of ruling and plotting had gone from her mind, now replaced with concern for her love. She thought he could handle the death of a parent better than this. It had only been a very short time, but his father had the Eyrie up in rebellion before his own father’s body was cold. Wildfire might leave a body warm for a bit longer than an ambush though. 

“So I can’t be happy?”

“Not when you’re pouring alcohol on top of alcohol. You’ll be depressed from the hangover and then bringing out wilder emotions with more,” Margaery tried to get him to see reason. The idea of letting this boozy wallowing burn out of his system now seemed like a less than stellar plan. 

“Wilder emotions?” Robb asked.

“Yes.”

“Were you on a month long bender when you cut Tyrion Lannister’s tongue out and made him wear the damn thing?” Robb confronted her angrily. 

“That was the torturer!” Margaery flat out lied to him. “Besides, the Lannisters were evil, they sacked this city and made it… Well, they made it hell for the people. The people we are supposed to rule over. Didn’t you say once your father told you when you ruled every subject was your child? If someone burned and raped and murdered all your children would you not see a terrible wrath brought down on them?”

“Incredibly convoluted way to justify barbarism… Though yes, if I think, I did burn the Rock, did launch all those rotten cattle carcasses… The quick lime…”

“The what?”

“Boiled oyster shells they blind and burn the skin off,” Robb said coldly. “What the Lannisters did to King’s Landing… Oh fuck I just did it in kind to the Rock.”

“They deserved it.”

“I’m fucking a hair away from fucking Aerys.”

“You are not! Good god Robb,” Margaery snatched his wine.

“Oh… Lame.”

“This is gone,” Margaery tossed the jug from the balcony. “Stop drinking, sober up, sleep it off, stop being dramatic and be an adult. You’re the head of your house now and the head of the Kingdoms! You’re the most powerful person alive and you want to sulk? The realm can’t afford a sulking King.”

“A King needs a supportive wife!”

“What would be supportive? Indulging your whims?”

“Release Tyrion.”

“Sober up.”

“Fine, and give the Imp some paper and pen so he can communicate I wish to speak to him about the ambush on my father’s cavern,” Robb said flopping down on their bed.

***

Bloody hell. Being Queen ought to be easier than this. It should be like playing fantasy as a child. Point, demand, it happens. In her childhood fantasies her husband wasn't a problem. Perhaps she was being a little hard on him. How would she react if her father was gone? It actually upset her a little. Pangs of remorse and sadness cut deep inside her gut. Simply the theoretical idea of her father going away was a bit much. Her family had not suffered much death. Not like the Starks… Actually, Margaery reasoned, if Starks are so used to death should Robb not be able to deal with this a bit better.

He may blame himself. 

That thought hadn’t occurred.

Margaery had been so driven with washing away the foul stench of the Lannisters all other thoughts had not had room to manifest inside her head…

She remembered how she first felt when she met Robb, the excitement of their trysts and she felt… She needed to speak to Robb.

“Open the door,” she ordered the turnkey when she reached the jester’s cell. “Tyrion Lannister,” Margaery said as she walked alone into the dank, dark little room. She looked around. Where was he? “GUARD!” A man rushed in with a torch. “Ah, there you are,” Margaery saw what she was looking for.

Tyrion Lannister had run himself head first into the wall who knows how many times. Cracking his skull open, the miniscule figure was collapsed in a dark corner, with red blood and grey brain pooled around his head. That was a rather nasty way to commit suicide. She didn’t think the cowardly little creature had it in him. 

“Oh well,” Margaery shrugged. This wasn’t her fault. “Silly man, I was going to let him go.” 

“What should I do with his body your grace?”

“I don’t care, throw it out.”

 

-Myr-

She couldn’t cry. That was new. Myrcella was just dead inside.

Princess Myrcella Baratheon was dead.

Now Myrcella was just a husk who still breathed but had naught left inside her. Except maybe hatred. The shy, handsome Northman who she had been scared of but secretly a little pleased to marry was a lie. He was a monster. A beast of evil. He had started by killing her families’ friends. Then her family's’ men. Then her family. Then he stole the only thing left to her. Her body.

Myrcella was playing with a knife she had pocketed from a meal. Pulling up her skirts she sliced her inner thigh. She did it coldly and without emotion. 

No. That still hurt. She winced and withdrew the edge of the blade as a trickle of blood rolled down her thigh. 

Myrcella was angered at her inability to be completely without pain. 

Still weak. She hated Robb but he was strong. Covered in scars and still able to fight. She couldn’t sit and cut. How utterly pathetic.

However pain was one thing but pain would always exist. There was only one alternative to her hell. Looking at her balcony she went cold. Not as dead inside as she thought. The notion of chucking herself from the thing was too much, it scared her and made her heart beat and her palms itch. Rather be a coward a hell than be brave and risk the unknown she thought bitterly.

Her body was sore. Especially between her legs. Robb was so drunk he had thought they were having some mutual love making session, as he whispered to her. 

In reality he forced her down, pinned her to her bed and tore at her clothes, scraping her legs with his nails and cutting her worse she had just tried herself. He was rough and nasty, as he forced himself into her unwilling body and slammed into her, racking her body with agony.

When she went to the toilet in the morning, Myrcella nearly cried from the discomfort. Walking hurt. Sitting down hurt. Everything hurt. 

“Myrcella?” Robb’s voice came through the door. “Myrcella? Can we talk please?”

“Yes, come in,” Myrcella gave vapid approval as if she could refuse anyone’s request of anything anymore. Her assaulter entered. The look on his face told her all she needed to know. He was drunk again, drunk on top of drunk, but he looked pleased to see her.

Was he so deluded he didn’t realized he had raped her?

Did the King think that was a mutual, loving experience?!

“Myrcella,” he breathed heavily, walking into her pathetic chambers and sat on the edge of her bed. He patted the sheets next to him and she walked stiffly towards him and sat awkwardly next to him. She was somewhat afeared of him but hatred was the main feeling. “I think Margaery might be… Wrong.”

“Wrong?” Myrcella replied after several long beats as she mustered the energy to respond to this monster.

“She has a cruel streak I hadn’t seen before…”

“You burnt down Casterly Rock…” Not a wise answer but it slipped out.

“I did… Oh gods forgive me but I did, I used disease, poison and pestilence,” Robb’s voice broke, as he took another deep swig from his wine skin. “Fuck me. Fuck me. I’m a bad… This isn’t good is it? But what can I do? She’s taken power from under me. My mother hates me. Arya, poor girl, she loathes me… They’ll have gone North and spread shit about me; deservedly so.”

Too little too late, Myrcella thought bitterly. 

“I’m sorry, I am, but I can’t do anything to rectify it, I let Tyrion go, he… What…”

“You spoke about it last night,” Myrcella told him quickly to stop him repeating himself like only a drunkard could. “My uncle maybe free but cannot speak.”

“No… No he can’t… Fucking hell… Though you’re right too… I used quicklime, that would have lead to thousands of horrid, squalid deaths… But that. That is war you know? You win war by killing your enemy. I lead my father to his death, I lead many to their deaths and… Good god.”

“Robb,” Myrcella put a hand on his shoulder.

He looked up slowly, hope in his eyes. The desperation in his look almost made Myrcella try to console him. Almost. She was decent deep down and when someone was hurting she wished to help if she could, but this man had ruined her life so completely she was a walking husk. 

“You’ve gone too far.”

“I have, haven’t I.”

“Yes.”

“The Tyrells own everything. I am but King in name now my army has gone North,” Robb mumbled. A single tear rolled down his cheeks; which were reddened from all the wine. “Fuck.”

“You have done this.”

“No I haven’t! No I haven’t! Not all of it. Cersei Lannister cheated on Robert and gave him bastards. That made our marriage illegitimate. Stannis and Jon were trying to topple the Lannisters I was a pawn. I simply got caught up in a mission which due to situation and circumstance, I had to finish because the perpetrators fell by the wayside…”

“You didn’t have to cheat on me.”

“No. That I didn’t. You never spoke to me. We barely talked. We barely… We were a girl and boy living awkwardly next to each other who had sex of an evening,” Robb said slowly. “Gods, that is a terrible excuse.”

“It is.”

“I’ll free you if you like? I’ll give you money and a ship and some guards if you want to go to Essos.”

“What would I do? I don’t speak foreign. I don’t know… I don’t know…”

“Think about it. I have a bloody royal engagement,” Robb stood up and left the wine on the bed with a nod as if he was parting a gift to Myrcella. What a bastard. “Oberyn Martell and his bastard daughters are here to bend the knee, or… Well they’re here.”

***

She was trotted out to a feast with the Dornish when the time came. Sitting on the highborn table, in a favorable position, yet totally isolated. 

Myrcella never felt hatred the way she did when she saw Margaery Tyrell act like a benevolent, gracious and kind host. She looked beautiful and regal and held court in such a lovely way. A woman who had men murdered for naught and mutilated on cruel whims appeared to an unknowing eye as the embodiment of a lady. 

Vile.

A demon with brunette curls.

***

“You, you are Myrcella yes?”

“Yes,” she replied carefully. “Your name my lady?”

“Arianne Martell.”

“Doran’s daughter?”

“Ha! Yes, a princess too, just like yourself,” the Southern beauty spoke softly so only the two of them could hear. 

“I’m not. Not anymore. I’m just a novelty now.”

“Yes, I could imagine. As the last Lannister.”

“I’ve never felt like a Lannister. Nor Baratheon…” Myrcella wished to be guarded but something about her demeanor made her also want to open up.

“Well we shall be here for a week or so, see if you can escape your chains and we’ll treat you well. We abhor injustice to women in Dorne.

“I…”

“Myrcella!” Margaery called down the table. “Come sit with me, I wish to speak with you.”

“Yes your grace,” she replied meekly. 

“Entertain that bitch. Speak soon. We have much to discuss.”


End file.
